For Want of a Brother
by J. Rosemary Moss
Summary: Adam has to bring a young man to justice--a young man who's becoming uncomfortably like a little brother...
1. Chapter 1

**For Want of A Brother **

by J. Rosemary Moss

**Part One**

I strained my ears and pressed myself against the outside wall of the line shack. There were hoof beats in the distance, drawing nearer. One horse. Good. I could handle one rider.

Course it might be easier if I had bullets left in my gun. I oughtn't have shot Jack Clayton so many times--one bullet would have killed him just as dead. Now I'd have to bluff.

I saw the rider before he saw me. It was Adam Cartwright. He was riding Sport, that chestnut gelding of his. And he had his yellow coat buttoned tight against the cold and his black hat pulled down low. I don't think he was looking for me--he wouldn't have come alone if he were. But he'd know soon enough that I was here. He'd see the tell-tale signs around the cabin. I'd gotten here in a hurry and I hadn't covered up my tracks yet.

I swore under my breath and wished it weren't Adam. He was a decent sort and he'd been a decent boss to me this past year. I'd have preferred not to tangle him up in this mess of mine. But I held my empty gun at the ready.

Adam slowed Sport down as they approached the shack. He hadn't seen me yet, but he knew that someone was about. And it wouldn't take him long to figure out who it was. I decided not to wait.

I trained my gun at him and stepped out in front of him. "Afternoon, Adam," I said.

He sighed as he pulled Sport to a halt and stared down at me. Then he leaned forward a little in his saddle. "Afternoon, Reuben," he returned. "There's a posse out looking for you."

I could see his breath as he spoke--and my own as I answered. "I thought there might be," I said. "But I reckon you're not part of it."

"No, I'm not," he owned. "Did you kill Jack Clayton?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't see the point in lying. "Now I'd appreciate it, Adam, if you'd toss your gun down nice and easy, followed by that rifle in your saddle."

He considered me for a moment, but at length he nodded. My bluff was working.

"What'd you hope to gain by killing him?" he asked as he tossed down his Colt. It landed with a thud in the snow about ten feet away from me.

"Now don't lecture me, Adam," I said, keeping my gun steady as he reached for his Enfield. "You didn't like him any better than I did."

"He wasn't worth hanging for," Adam retorted.

"I beg to differ. Now go on, toss down that rifle."

He nodded again and followed my instructions. It landed close by the Colt.

"Thank you," I said, stepping slowly toward the guns. "Now dismount, Adam. I need to borrow Sport—but I'll see that he's returned to you by and by."

He didn't obey me immediately. "What happened to your horse?" he asked instead.

"He went lame on me. I let him go—he'll wonder back toward the main house of the Ponderosa, I shouldn't wonder."

"Why did you do it?" Adam persisted. "What are you, Reuben? Twenty? Twenty-one? Why throw your life away?"

I paused and gave him a crooked smile--a smile I happen to know is exceptionally charming, even granting my uneven teeth. "If they catch me, I promise to tell you before I hang," I said. "Now come on down."

But Adam refused to play along. "Are you truly prepared to shoot me?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him. "I'd try just to wound you, but I can't answer for my aim."

Course I didn't have bullets to shoot him with, but I decided to leave that part out. Holding the empty gun steady, I took another sideways step toward his Colt and Enfield.

Adam began to dismount. But I was trying to keep an eye on him and reach for the Colt at the same time. That turned out to be a mistake.

Adam must have decided that I wouldn't really shoot. When he was halfway off his horse he twisted himself around and sprang toward me. I didn't react quick enough—I gave him time to rush me and grab hold of my arm, forcing me to the ground. I let go of my gun as I fell backward into the snow.

I came to my senses and kicked Adam's right leg out from under him, causing him to collapse on top of me. Then I managed to slam my knee into his groin. That winded him, but he still used his fist to pummel my jaw. I tasted blood in my mouth as I pulled him tight against me, hoping to use our joint momentum to roll over on top of him.

That worked—and for a moment I held the upper hand. But he grabbed his Colt out of the snow and struck me on the back of the head with it.

I heard the thud of the gun against my skull before I felt anything. Then I was conscious of pain—but only for a second. My eyesight blurred and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**For Want of a Brother, Part Two**

by J. Rosemary Moss

The first thing I noticed as I woke up was the smell of smoke. Not dangerous smoke—fireplace smoke. The kind you smell when the chimney is overworked or the winds aren't right.

I could still taste the blood in my mouth, I realized. I licked my tongue around and found an empty spot where one of my side teeth used to be. Worse, my head was pounding something fierce. I groaned and forced myself to open my eyes.

I was inside the cabin, lying on my side with my hands bound behind my back. Well, at least Adam had set a wool blanket underneath me and piled two more on top of me. That was thoughtful of him.

I shifted myself so that I was sitting up and leaning back against the wall of the shack. Adam was crouching by the fireplace, coughing a little from the smoke as he added another log. He must have heard me stirring and groaning, cause he glanced over his shoulder at me.

He turned toward me and gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. "How are you?" he asked.

"I've been better," I answered.

He smiled a little at that. "So I imagine. I see you threatened me with an empty gun," he added, nodding over at my holster.

Now it was my turn to smile. "I bluffed well, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he owned. "Would you have fired at me if your gun had been loaded?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. If I did, I'd have been aiming for your leg, mind. But on the other hand—well, maybe I done enough shooting for today. Hell," I added, cracking another grin, "maybe I done enough to last me for the rest of my life."

Adam didn't say anything to that. He just crouched there by the fire, regarding me with those amber eyes of his. Cat eyes, I always thought. Apart from their coloring, they were just as unreadable as a cat's.

We regarded each other for a full minute or so, neither of us saying a word. It's a funny thing, that. If he had pressed me to talk, I would have clammed up. But somehow I felt the need to fill the silence between us.

"I used all my bullets on Jack Clayton," I said, keeping my voice matter-of-fact. "Once I got to shooting him, I couldn't stop myself."

Adam still kept quiet. He just crouched there, watching me. So I kept going.

"The first bullet tore through his frock coat and his waistcoat and that snowy white cravat of his," I explained. "I'm pretty sure it did the trick--it struck his heart or damn near to it. But I was in a blind fury—I kept cocking the gun and squeezing the trigger, again and again and again. He was pumped full of bullets when I left--there were holes in his stomach, his chest and his throat."

"I know," Adam said quietly. "I saw the body."

I nodded. "Lord, there was a lot of blood. I didn't know a man could bleed so much, Adam. It was as bad as slaughtering a hog. Worse, I think, considering it was a man."

I paused and gave him a defiant look. "But I don't regret it," I said. "I'm not one bit sorry. I thought I'd be remorseful by now—but not a lick."

He still said nothing. He just nodded and went back to tending the fire.

I sighed and looked away for a moment. "Why'd you see the body?" I asked at length.

"Sheriff Coffee sent for me," he answered. "He was at Clayton's office when I found him. He'd heard I was in town and he wanted me to answer questions about you." Adam paused and gave me a wry grin. "Apparently you didn't bother hiding your crime."

I shook my head. "No, I wasn't hiding anything. I walked out of Clayton's office with my gun smoking in my hand and Clayton's blood splattered on me. Folks were just too shocked to stop me, I reckon."

"I reckon so," Adam agreed. "Did you go in there meaning to kill him, Reuben?"

I nodded again. "Yeah. I wasn't sure that I'd go through with it, mind. But my intention--my intention was to strike him more dead than a great reckoning in a little room."

His eyes widened at that, just as I had intended. "Do you know what you're quoting?" he demanded.

I grinned at him. "You ain't the only man in Virginia City with an education, Adam," I informed him. "Yeah, those very words were on my mind as I stepped into Clayton's office. I remembered my Pa reading _**As You Like It to me**_."

I paused as my Pa's face seemed to float before my eyes. "That was one of his favorite plays," I continued. "He was somewhat of a scholar, my Pa, and Shakespeare was his religion. He told me how another playwright, Kit Marlowe, had got himself killed, supposedly over the reckoning of a bill in some tavern. But folks suspected that he was murdered--maybe even by the government of his day. And Shakespeare as good as said so, right in the middle of his comedy. He had some guts, that Shakespeare."

I paused again, willing my Pa's face to banish. I stared at Adam instead. "I never read Kit Marlowe's plays," I said. "Have you?"

He nodded. "I have."

"What'd you think of them?"

Adam grinned as he stood up, walked over to me and seated himself at my side. "He had a certain something," he said, "but he was no Shakespeare."

I laughed at that. "Yeah, that's what I figured. Well, anyways, that quote was on my mind. I knew if I killed Clayton, that I'd have to have the guts to do it straight out. I wasn't going to try to disguise the murder or leave anyone wondering who'd done it."

"No sham brawl in a tavern," Adam said.

"Just so," I agreed. "Hell, I couldn't have pulled something like that off anyway. Didn't want to kill him with poison or the like either," I added. "So I figured it was best to let folks know the truth."

That drew another grin from Adam, but then he gave me a serious look. "If you're so keen on the truth, Reuben, why don't you tell me why you killed him?" he asked.

"I will," I promised. "Before it's hanging time. And speaking of questions, why ain't we on our way back to Virginia City, with me slung over Sport's saddle?"

"I didn't think we'd make it before the snow came," Adam said, nodding at the window.

I strained my eyes to look past the smoke in the room and out the window. Sure enough, the snow was coming down heavy.

"Well, that's a piece of luck," I said. "That'll cover any tracks from my horse."

"Yeah," Adam said. "And it'll slow down the posse. I won't get you back to town for a day or two."

I grinned at him. "You think you can hold me that long?"

"I mean to try," he said with a determined look.

"I suppose I'd be disappointed if you didn't," I owned. "But what happens after that? Assuming you get me back to Virginia City, that is."

Adam sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "We find you a damned good lawyer."


	3. Chapter 3

**For Want of a Brother, Part Three**

by J. Rosemary Moss

"How'd you get a name like Reuben?"

Adam's voice cut through my thoughts, calling my attention back to him. We'd fallen silent for the last while. He was busy at the fire again, preparing some beans to serve as dinner. Me, I was quietly working on the ropes that held my hands behind my back. I hadn't made much progress yet—in fact, I reckon all I'd done was to scrape my wrists raw—but I was optimistic.

"What was that?" I asked.

"How'd you get a name like Reuben?" he repeated. "The way you described your Pa, I'd have thought he would have named you William or Hamlet or Horatio or some such."

I grinned at that. "Oh, my father tried. He wanted a good Shakespearean name for me, but my mother insisted on a Bible name. I was their first born, so she decided that Reuben was fitting."

Adam grinned back as he stirred the beans. "And your father gave in?"

"He could never hold out against her," I explained. "But he got his way with my sisters. He named them Rosalind and Celia. I never figured out how he convinced her—I was too young at the time to appreciate his arguments."

I paused for a moment. It wouldn't do to say too much about my sisters.

"What about your name?" I asked, trying to turn the subject a bit. "Are you named after the biblical Adam--or are you named for a relation?"

"After the biblical Adam—indirectly," he answered. "My Pa used to read _**Paradise Lost**_ to my mother. She named me before she died."

"How'd she die?" I asked. "Was it childbed?"

"Yeah," he said. "She bled to death shortly after she gave birth to me." Then he turned back to the beans.

"My Ma died in childbed too," I told him. "A lot of women die that way. And it's not anyone's fault—it just happens. You have to be brave to give birth, I think."

"From the little I've seen of it, it's a harder death than most men face," he said.

"I reckon so," I said softly, thinking back. "With my Ma, the baby was still-born," I told him. "That would have been my third sister."

Adam peered over his shoulder at me. "Do you have any brothers?"

I shook my head. "Just as well—I never wanted any younger brothers. I wish I had an older brother, though," I added, grinning again. "It's too much damn responsibility being the oldest."

He smiled at that, but he didn't say anything in response. He checked on the beans instead and went back to stirring them, so I went back to work on the ropes. I could feel my wrists getting slick—I was starting to bleed. Well, so be it. The slickness would help, like as not.

I kept at the ropes until Adam came over to feed me and water me. He didn't notice anything amiss—there were still two wool blankets on top of me. He just sat by my side and made sure that I got enough to eat.

We didn't talk much as he fed me. At first I didn't mind--the silence between us was comfortable enough. But at length I got bored and decided to break it.

"Why'd you come out this way?" I asked.

He held another forkful up to my mouth. I took it and started chewing as he answered.

"I was looking for you," he told me. "I figured you might come up here—it's not handy if you're trying to escape the Ponderosa, but you know this part of the ranch well enough to hide awhile. And you knew what supplies were available in this shack."

"That was my thinking," I owned after swallowing down the beans. "But if you knew I was here, why'd you come alone?"

He sighed. "I didn't want to give the posse an exact idea of your location. I wasn't sure they'd bring you in for a trial."

I nodded slowly at that. "Clayton was a powerful man—I reckon his fellow mine owners would find a way to reward the posse handsomely for bringing me in dead."

Adam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that was their thinking."

I gave him a level look. "What's it to you, what the posse does?"

He tousled my hair, just as I'd seen him do to Little Joe more times than I can count. "You're one of my hands," he said.

He said it as if it explained everything. And I suppose it did. Adam was the sort who felt a keen responsibility for his workers.

"I appreciate that," I said. "But is it worth all this trouble just to bring me in? You can still look the other way, Adam. You know what sort of man Clayton was—I heard you say yourself once that he was responsible for the deaths of at least twenty miners. All because he was too cheap to pay for the safety of his men."

Adam narrowed those cat eyes of his at me. "I know what Clayton was," he admitted. "His men weren't real to him—they were just figures on a ledger. He wasn't purposefully cruel and he didn't want them to die. They just didn't enter into his thinking when he looked at the costs and profits of his mine."

I thought about that. "I suppose that's accurate enough. Too many people weren't real to him—that was the problem. But that don't change things, Adam. He deserved death. He deserved a worse death than I gave him."

"And you think you deserved to be his judge and executioner?"

I shrugged. "Why not? The law wasn't going to do anything to him. The law can't even fine him for all those deaths."

Adam sighed again. "Reuben, I know you didn't kill Clayton over those miners. You're not on a crusade against the evil captains of industry."

I had to smile a little at the sarcasm in his voice. "That's true," I owned. "It was more personal than that."

"Tell me what happened," he ordered. And it was an order—there was no mistaking that.

I stared at him for a long time before I answered. But in the end, I decided to give in. I'm not sure why, though. Maybe I was used to taking orders from him. I'd been working under him for a year now, after all. Or maybe I just liked the idea of having an older-brother type to boss me around.

I smiled again as I started talking--a wistful smile this time. "It's about my sister Rosalind," I began.


	4. Chapter 4

**For Want of a Brother, Part Four**

by J. Rosemary Moss

I fell quiet right after starting. How was I supposed to explain all this to Adam? What had happened was so shocking that I didn't know how to put it in words.

I clasped my hands together. I could still feel the dampness that covered my wrists. I found myself wondering how close I was to getting the ropes off of me. But I couldn't worry about that now—not with Adam sitting right next to me.

"How old were you when Rosalind was born?" Adam asked, breaking the silence.

"I was four," I answered. "That's when Rosalind and Celia were both born--they were twins."

"Identical?"

I shook my head. "Fraternal. They didn't look much alike. They didn't act much alike either. Rosalind was just like her namesake--she was bright, adventurous and a little mischievous. But unlike Shakespeare's Rosalind, she didn't have a good head on her shoulders, you know? She would do crazy things without thinking."

Adam smiled at that. "That seems to run in the family," he said.

That drew a laugh from me. "Yeah," I said. "I reckon so. Celia's the odd one out: she's a quiet little girl."

I fell silent again as I thought about what to say next.

"Is your father still alive?" Adam prompted.

"No," I answered. "I was twelve when my Ma died. My Pa—my Pa just broke. It's funny, I always thought that Shakespeare was the center of his life, but instead it was my Ma. He couldn't go on without her. He was dead within a year."

I paused as I shut my eyes for a moment, thinking back to both my parents' funerals. Then I pulled myself together and continued. "We sold the little mercantile my folks had owned and moved in with an aunt on my mother's side. When I turned fifteen, I started working as a hand. I moved from one ranch to another until last year, when I got a job with your crew here on the Ponderosa."

"And Rosalind?"

"When she turned sixteen--right about the time I started working for you--she came to Virginia City as well and found a job as a domestic. She ended up being the personal maid to a mine owner's wife. It was a decent, respectable position."

I paused again and twisted my mouth before continuing. "At some point, she met Jack Clayton. He must have impressed her--well, you know what he was like. He was handsome enough and something of a dandy. He must have seemed like a sophisticated, exciting older man."

Adam sighed. "I don't suppose he had any thoughts of marrying her."

I laughed at that—a short, bitter laugh. "Clayton with all his filthy new-money marry a maid? No, he had no such intention. I imagine he showed her a good time--but anyone could have told her that he was on the lookout for a wealthy bride."

I had been looking away from Adam as I spoke, but now I turned my head to face him. "I didn't know about Clayton," I told him. "I lived here on the Ponderosa, and I only got into town once every couple of weeks. I thought my sister might have met some fellow--she seemed so happy—but I never dreamed that she'd let herself fall for a man who wouldn't do the right thing by her."

I sighed and looked away again. I found myself staring at the fireplace across the room. "Last night when I was at the Silver Dollar, one of the girls that Rosalind worked with--another maid in the same house—came in and tapped me on the shoulder. She said that Rosalind—that Rosalind was 'in trouble' and that she wasn't well and that we had to get her to a doctor. I followed her out, somewhat in shock. But the thing is, Adam--the thing is that Rosalind had already been to a doctor, or someone who had claimed to be a doctor. And now she was dying."

I looked his way again as I spoke those last words. He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand.

"We got Rosalind to a real doctor," I continued, "but it was too late. But she told me the story. When she realized that she was with child she had gone to Clayton, expecting that he would marry her. He told her that he was sorry, but that was quite impossible. And then he gave her money and the name of this so-called 'doctor.' He assured her that would be best for everyone concerned. No one wanted a scandal, he said."

Adam put down his hand and looked me straight in the eye. "Reuben--"

I shook my head. "No, let me finish. She died soon after she told me what happened. I made arrangements for the body and then I went straight to Sheriff Coffee. I asked him what he was going to do about Jack Clayton."

I shut my eyes for a moment, remembering the scene in Coffee's office. I felt Adam put his hand on my shoulder as I struggled to get the words out.

"Sheriff Coffee said that there was nothing he could do about Clayton," I continued, forcing myself to keep my voice even. "He said that he would go after the 'doctor,' although the fellow was probably out of town by now. I said that was fine, but how could Clayton go free? Coffee said he was sorry, but as far as the law was concerned, Clayton hadn't done anything wrong. If it were up to him, he added, the law would be different."

I took a deep breath. "Well, I appreciated Coffee's sentiments, but they didn't do me any good. It was morning by now--the sun had just come up. So I went outside and sat and thought."

Adam shifted his arm so that it was around my other shoulder and drew me against him. I didn't object--hell, I think I even put my head down on his shoulder, just as if he'd really been my older brother.

The only thing that worried me was my slick wrists. I didn't want him to notice that I'd been trying to get free of the ropes. But fortunately the blankets still covered enough of me.

"At length I walked over to Clayton's office," I said. "I walked straight inside, shut the door behind me and told him what happened to my sister. He was sorry, he said. She was so young and pretty and full of life. It was a terrible shame. Yes, he had sent her to that doctor--it had seemed the best thing for both of them. He didn't want Rosalind's reputation ruined. And he'd be glad to pay for the funeral."

Adam tightened his grip on my shoulder.

"I pulled out my gun and shot him," I said. "But the first bullet didn't satisfy me—well, you know about that part."

Adam didn't say anything; he just drew me a little closer to him. I don't know how long we sat there--I was just glad for his company.

But I had another reason to be glad. At some point, I realized that one of my hands was slick enough to twist out of the ropes. I didn't do anything right away, though. I just stayed there, sitting with Adam as we both stared into the fireplace.


	5. Chapter 5

**For Want of a Brother, Part Five**

by J. Rosemary Moss

We were still sitting there a while later, listening to the wind howling outside. Adam still had a brotherly arm around me and I hadn't bothered to lift my head off his shoulder yet.

It occurred to me, as we sat there, that I hadn't grieved for Rosalind. I knew she was dead and that I'd never hear her laugh again or tease me again. But no—I couldn't think of that. I couldn't afford to think of that. I had to figure out what I was going to do now that I could free myself of these blasted ropes.

I'd have to do something. Sooner or later, Adam would offer to help me, ah, relieve myself. He'd have to before we turned in for the night. He'd notice that I'd loosened the ropes by then, if not before.

I stalled for time by breaking the silence that had fallen between us. "Do you think that a judge will sentence me to hang?" I asked.

"I don't know, Reuben," he answered. His voice was tight, as if he were forcing himself to keep it steady. "It doesn't help matters that you shot Clayton so many times."

I nodded. "Yeah, I got carried away. I just—I just wanted that man dead. But what would you have done, Adam, if it had been your sister? What would you have done if the law could do nothing for you?"

"I'm not sure," he answered. Then he sighed. "Reuben, when you come to trial, the prosecuting attorney will rip your sister's character to shreds."

That thought had already occurred to me. "I reckon so," I said. "He'll ask what kind of girl would get herself into trouble like that—not a respectable girl, he'll say. He'll put the blame on her, not on Clayton."

I paused and swore under my breath. "Lord, Adam, I wish she had come to me. I'd have told her that our family could survive any scandal—that we could raise a child born out of wedlock. Why didn't she realize that?"

"Because she was young and frightened and she probably looked up to Clayton," Adam answered. "What happened to Rosalind wasn't your fault, kid."

I gave a short laugh at that. "Well, what happened to Clayton was," I said. "And I don't particularly want to hang for it."

"I don't want you to hang for it either," he said.

I lifted my head off his shoulder so that I could shift myself toward him and look him in the eye. "Do you think I deserve to?"

It took him a while to answer that— and he let his arm fall off my shoulders as he did. "It was still murder, Reuben," he said. "I understand why you did it, but you still gunned Clayton down in cold blood."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "That sounds like a yes."

He shook his head and then gave me a look that was somehow warm and judgmental at the same time. "No," he said softly. "I don't think you deserve hanging. But you don't deserve your freedom either."

"If it comes to hanging or years and years in prison, Adam—well, I'd take the hanging."

"Then you're a fool," he said. "Look, Reuben, I'll do everything in my power to keep you from hanging—starting with the best lawyer the Ponderosa can afford."

"Clayton has powerful friends who will want me executed," I pointed out. "And even if you could save me from the noose, could you save me from a prison that would whip me into submission?" I asked. "You know what convicts are put through—and you know what hard labor does to them. Is that what you think I deserve? Wouldn't you rather hang than face a lifetime of that?"

His amber eyes bore into me. They had an eerie glow to them, thanks to the flickering firelight. "Why don't you tell me what you think you deserve?" he asked. "What should happen to a man who appoints himself as judge, jury and executioner?"

I stared at him for a long moment. Damn it, how did he expect me to answer that?

I could pull my hands free of the ropes now, I reminded myself. I could take Adam by surprise and grab his gun. God, that was tempting.

But it was also pointless. Adam knew—or at least I hoped he knew—that I wouldn't shoot him.

So I moved my hands slow and easy instead, sliding them out of the ropes and bringing them in front of me. I wanted Adam to know that I could have caught him unawares. I wanted him to know that he didn't have as much power over me as he thought. And I wanted to wipe that self-righteous smirk off his face.

But Adam didn't act surprised by my sudden freedom. He's got a good poker face, Adam does. He just glanced down at my wrists and then back up at me.

"You're a bloody mess," he commented. "We ought to see if there's some ointment here for your wrists."

I had to grin at his nonchalance—I couldn't help it. "And then what?" I asked. "I'm not going back to Virginia City with you, Adam."

He gave me a level look, but I suspected that he was trying to make up his mind about me. "Neither of us is going anywhere until the snow stops," he said at length. "You're not suicidal, Reuben. You're not going to try to make it through this storm."

I glanced at the window. The snow was coming down hard and I could still hear the wind howling. Damn. The snow would cover my tracks, but Adam was right: this storm would be the devil to travel in.

"And when the storm ends?" I asked. "I'm not going to let you shoot me in the leg or knock me unconscious," I warned him.

"I can't just let you go, Reuben," he said.

I rolled my eyes at him. "What if I were Little Joe?"

He cocked his head at me. "Still competing with Joe?" he asked.

That drew another grin from me. Joe and I always found ourselves at odds. We were both reckless and rash and too pretty for our own good. That led to endless competitions between us—especially when it came to the ladies. But Joe had one thing I didn't: an older brother to look up to and rail against.

In fairness, he had two older brothers. But I scarcely knew Hoss. I knew Adam because he was the one who had hired me and because I was part of his crew. And I knew Joe because we were nearly the same age and because we had a number of friends in common. But their brother Hoss and their father Ben were almost strangers to me. Oh, I knew them well enough to exchange greetings and small talk with—but that was the extent of it.

"I suppose I am still competing with Joe," I owned. "But it was a serious question: if I were your brother—your real brother—would you turn me in? Or would you look the other way?"

Adam didn't answer me—he dug into his pocket instead. I narrowed my eyes at him as he pulled out a pocket knife.

"Hold out your hand," he ordered.

I stared at him, but after a moment I shrugged and obeyed him. Then I watched as he cut his palm open with the knife. I smiled at that—I knew what he had in mind now.

He took hold of me and mingled the blood from my wrist with the blood from his palm. "There," he said. "Whatever happens, Reuben, I promise to treat you exactly like a brother. Now can I trust you not to shoot me in the leg or knock me unconscious—at least till the end of this storm?"

I gripped his hand as I replied. "Yeah," I told him. "You can."


	6. Chapter 6

**For Want of a Brother, Part Six**

by J. Rosemary Moss

After our little blood-brother ritual, Adam rummaged around for some bandages. He didn't find any, but there was an old linen shirt that would serve just as well. We tore it into strips and then Adam helped me wash my wrists off and bind the wounds on them.

When that was done, he went outside to check on Sport. There was a small shelter out there—big enough for two horses—and some feed and blankets and such.

I stoked the fire while he was gone, thinking about his question to me—the one I couldn't answer. What should become of me for appointing myself judge, jury and executioner?

It occurred to me, as I sat there by the fire, that I didn't know much about Jack Clayton. Granted, the few things I did know didn't produce any charitable feelings toward him. But I was staggered by how little I could actually say about the man.

What about the people he left behind? Was anyone mourning him? There were the other mine owners—but they wouldn't mourn him so much as get nervous about his death. They'd be afraid that some disgruntled miner—or maybe a miner's widow—would get the idea to assassinate one of them.

But did the man have family that would grieve for him? I knew that his father was dead, but his mother might be alive somewhere. And I had no idea if he had any siblings. I bit my lip as I pondered that, wondering if Clayton had been any more 'real' to me than those dead miners or Rosalind had been to him.

Don't get the wrong idea—I wasn't regretting my actions. I was no Lady MacBeth fretting over the blood on my hands. But I was beginning to wonder if I should feel some regret.

Adam came back in just then. His coat was near soaking from the icy snow, even from the short time he'd been outside.

"There's no sign of the storm letting up," he said as he stripped off the coat. Then he tossed it aside and wrapped himself in a wool blanket. I shifted a bit so that he could sit straight in front of the fire.

"Did Clayton leave any family behind?" I asked as he took the spot next to me.

That must have seemed like an abrupt question to Adam, cause he raised his eyebrows at me. "Yes—one brother."

"Older or younger?"

"Younger," he answered. "His name is Andrew—Drew for short."

"Do you know him?" I persisted.

Adam took his time about answering that. "A bit," he said. "I've had some business dealings with him. The two brothers were close—and Jack felt responsible for Drew, since Drew is blind."

I think my mouth dropped open at that. "He's blind?" I repeated. I wanted to make sure that I had heard him right.

Adam nodded and I swore under my breath. Trust Jack Clayton to have a blind brother he was taking care of. Damn the man.

But Adam curled his lips as he elaborated. "Don't get the wrong idea," he said. "Drew is no helpless invalid. In business, he drives a harder bargain than Jack did. And he's just as ruthless."

He paused and stared into the fire. "When it comes to your trial—if it comes to your trial—he'll be a problem. If he wants you to get the noose, he'll use all his influence to bring about that sentence. And considering how close he was to Jack, I think he will want to see you hang."

I stared at Adam. "You said 'if it comes to trial,'" I pointed out. "Are you figuring that I'll manage to escape you?"

He turned back to me and shook his head slowly. "There are no good answers here, Reuben," he said. "I don't think you deserve to hang for what you did, but that may be the result of a trial. On the other hand, I don't think you deserve your freedom—but that may be the only way to keep your neck out of a noose."

He paused and stared back at the fire. "If you choose to come back to Virginia City with me, I'll do everything in my power to keep you from hanging. I'll see if there's a way to reason with Drew. I'll make sure you have the best lawyer available and a fair judge. And, if we're successful, I'll do what I can to keep you out of any prison with a reputation for cruelty."

I sat there a minute, taking that in. "And if I don't choose to return with you?" I asked at last.

He sighed. "Then I'll do everything in my power to help you get away from here," he answered. "We have a good chance of getting you to Mexico, but you'd be better off if we could get you back east or even to Europe. It won't be too difficult to forge a new identity for you. And money won't be an issue—I can give you more than enough to start a new life."

I didn't know what to say to that. But at length I swallowed hard and found my voice. "I'd find a way to pay you back someday."

He nodded. "I'd expect you to. Is that your choice?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to say yes—but then I thought back to Clayton and the brother he left behind. "What would your choice be?" I asked.

But Adam shook his head again. "Reuben, if you're old enough to gun down a man in cold blood, then you're old enough to make this choice yourself." He paused and reached out to tousle my hair. "And that's exactly what I would tell one of my brothers."

I smiled a little. "I know," I said. And I knew, without him telling me, that this was exactly how he'd handle the situation if one of his brothers had pulled the trigger.

I drew my knees to me and stared back into the fire. "Could we talk about something else for a bit?" I asked.

"Sure," he said gently. "What'd you have in mind?"

"You can tell me about college," I said. "My Pa always hoped I'd go someday. I hoped so too—I wanted to study Shakespeare in earnest. I was saving up for it, just in case some place agreed to take a ranch hand. What was it like?"

He smiled. "Well, college does give you time to study Shakespeare," he began. And then he told me all about his trip back east, what it was like to go to lectures, the sort of rooms he had, the sort of pranks that college boys get up to, the sort of women they meet and how the professors taught their classes.

Neither of us seemed inclined to sleep. We talked all night, as I recall. We kept shifting closer to the fire and then away from it when the smoke got overpowering. But all the while we talked and talked.

We never came back to the discussion at hand—Adam never pressed me for a decision. But by the time the storm settled down, I knew what my choice had to be.


	7. Chapter 7

**For Want of a Brother, Part Seven**

by J. Rosemary Moss

I could guess what it cost Adam to give me a choice—and to offer to aid and abet me if I chose to escape. I reckon his Pa raised him to believe in the sanctity of the law, so he would not have made his offer lightly.

He could have offered merely to look the other way while I escaped. And if he had done that, I think I would have taken him up on it. After all, he had no legal responsibility to bring me to justice. He wasn't a lawman. He wouldn't have suffered any consequences for his actions—or lack thereof.

But once he decided to offer me the chance to escape, I suppose he couldn't leave it at that. It would have felt dishonorable to him, I think. If he was willing to help me at all, he was willing to help me to the best of his abilities—and if he was going to play fast and loose with the law, he wouldn't do so by half measures. Merely looking the other way would have been, to him, obeying the letter of the law but not the spirit. And that would have been more contemptible than breaking the law outright.

That's how I figured he was thinking. And that put me in a damnable spot.

How would Adam face his Pa again if he helped me escape? Or his younger brothers—especially Little Joe? Joe fought like the devil with Adam, but I knew that he looked up to him and relied on him to do the right thing.

What was Adam going to do—lie to his family? Lie to Sheriff Coffee?

And then there was this fellow Drew. Blind or not, Adam had told me that he was just as ruthless as Jack Clayton had been—maybe more so. If he guessed that Adam had helped me escape, would he come after Adam? Would he bring the law down on Adam's head?

Damn.

I hadn't bothered to hide my crime, I reminded myself. I had known all along that I couldn't risk having someone else accused of what I did. I had been determined, from the first, not to leave a mystery behind me.

Well, I couldn't leave Adam behind me either. And if I escaped with his help, I'd be doing just that. That was no way to treat a brother. I could try to escape without his help, I supposed, but I knew that Adam would never leave it at that.

All these thoughts were running through my head late the next morning as we saddled up Sport. It had stopped snowing—I think we both figured that we could make it back to town. Unless I chose to escape, that is.

Adam looked at me from the opposite side of Sport. "Well?" he asked.

It was the first time he'd asked me for my choice. He hadn't spoken a word about it after laying out my options last night.

"We'll have to take turns riding Sport back to Virginia City," I said. "And we won't be able to ride at all for most of the way—we've still got to watch for the ice."

I had been resting my hand on Sport's saddle as I spoke. Adam responded by covering my hand with his own.

"We'll go to the main house," he said. "My family will know how the roads are. If they're safe, we'll get fresh horses."

I nodded and together we led Sport out of the shelter.

And that's as much as either of us ever said about my choice. And that was fitting, I suppose. I wasn't sure how much time I had left in this world, after all. There were better things to talk about.


	8. Chapter 8

**For Want of a Brother, Part Eight**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

We got back to the main house without incident. It was slow going, though, and we didn't arrive until nightfall. There was too much snow and ice in our path. It didn't look like we'd make it into Virginia City until at least tomorrow.

But we talked all along the way—I asked Adam if he'd ever been to England and seen where Shakespeare was born or seen London and all the playhouses there.

He shook his head in regret. "No, I've never been outside this country—except briefly to Mexico," he owned. "I made it back east for college, but that's as far as I got."

"And you don't want to go now?" I asked.

"Someday, perhaps," he said.

"Why wait?" I asked. "Seems to me you ought to take a year or two now—otherwise you'll find yourself saddled with a wife and children before you know it. And then you'll never get away."

He grinned at me. "It's just as well, for your sake, that I haven't gone off on the grand tour," he pointed out.

I had enough sense to redden at that. "Yeah," I said as I managed a grin. "I suppose so." But I couldn't help but wonder what was holding him back.

Adam took no precautions with me except to place my gun and holster inside his saddle bag. I think he trusted me, but he didn't want to take a chance that anyone would mistake me as armed and dangerous. But he needn't have worried—I don't think anyone noticed us as we came into the yard. It was too dark.

I walked into the barn with him and helped him stable Sport. For the first time I realized that I was nervous about seeing his family inside. I wasn't sure what they'd think of me—or the killing.

Besides, I'd only been inside the big house twice. Yeah, I lived on the Ponderosa, but the hands slept in a bunkhouse. I'd been in the big house for a Christmas dance and I had stepped inside on one other occasion, but that was it.

I frowned a little as I thought back to that Christmas dance. Joe and I had been sparking the same girl. We got into a fist fight over her—which was a damn fool thing to do, when you think about it. We were so bloodied up and disheveled after throwing punches that she gave up on both of us. I doubted that Joe had forgiven me for that, although it was just as much his fault as mine.

I shook my head at myself as Adam and I walked out of the barn and toward the house. That fight over the girl seemed such a small thing to me now. I hoped that Joe would forget about it too—I didn't need any trouble with him just now.

As it happened, Joe was at the door when Adam opened it. His mouth nearly fell open at the sight of me.

"Hey, Joe," Adam said, ignoring the shocked look on his brother's face. "Reuben's spending the night with us. He and I are going to head into town tomorrow."

But on second thought, Adam wasn't ignoring Joe's shock. A look passed between the two brothers and somehow a whole conversation passed between them too.

Joe stepped aside to let us enter, but I saw his hand instinctively move to his left hip, where his holster should have been. But Adam gave him another look to assure him that I wasn't dangerous. That must have convinced Joe somewhat, for I saw him relax a little.

"There's a posse out hunting for Reuben," Joe told Adam out loud. "I'm not sure where they are now."

"I know," Adam said as he took off his coat, hat and holster. "But it's not necessary—Reuben's turning himself in."

Joe turned to me. "Did you kill Jack Clayton?"

I nodded.

He stared at me for a long moment. "Was it self defense?" he asked at last.

I cocked my head at him, surprised that he was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. "No," I admitted.

I think that put him at a loss for words. "Then why—why did you do it?" he managed.

He was searching my face, looking for some kind of reasonable response. But I hesitated, not sure how much I wanted to tell him. Telling Adam about my sister was one thing—telling Joe was something else. On the other hand, he'd hear about her soon enough. Perhaps I ought to just tell him now.

But Adam settled the matter—at least for the time being. "There'll be time for that later, Joe," he said. Then he nodded at me. "Take off your coat, Reuben. You might as well make yourself at home."

He used exactly the same tone that he used whenever he bossed Little Joe around. I couldn't help but notice that—and I'm pretty sure Joe noticed it too.

"Joe," Adam continued, "would you find Pa and tell him we're here?"

Joe nodded and turned his head toward the general direction of the staircase. "Hey Pa!" he shouted. "Adam's here and he's got Reuben Cobbs with him!"

Adam rolled his eyes at his little brother. "Thanks," he said dryly.

"Your welcome," Joe said, the picture of sincerity.

I smiled a little at that, but Adam let out a long-suffering sigh. Then he turned to me and put his hand on my back in order to steer me toward the great room.

That casual gesture wasn't lost on Joe. As I passed him, he gave me a look that I could read perfectly. Sparking the same girl was one thing, it said—but he wasn't about to share his older brother.


	9. Chapter 9

**For Want of a Brother, Part Nine**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

I didn't see much of Adam's Pa. He came downstairs, along with Hoss, and for a little while we all sat by the fire in the great room. That had to be the most awkward period of time in my life.

Adam explained that I had shot Jack Clayton and that I had come back in order to turn myself in. Mr. Cartwright took that with surprising equanimity, considering, but Joe looked fit to burst at the seams, he was so impatient to hear my reasons. Hoss wasn't far behind him. But Mr. Cartwright agreed with Adam: talk could wait.

Mr. Cartwright ordered Hop Sing to draw a bath for me. Once the water was hot and ready, Joe hustled me into the little side room where the tub was. I didn't object, even though I knew the real conversation out in the great room was likely to take place now that I was gone.

To my consternation, Joe stayed with me, even as I got undressed. I wasn't worried about my modesty, but I guessed that his Pa had ordered him to keep an eye on me. Adam might trust me, but Ben Cartwright didn't.

I could've told Joe that if I had wanted to run, Adam would have helped me do it. But I kept my mouth shut. If Adam wanted to tell his family about the offer he made me—well, that was up to him. They weren't going to hear it from me.

And at least Joe didn't have a gun on me. That was something, I supposed.

I raised my eyebrows at Joe as I climbed into the tub. I even risked a grin. "Aren't you upset to be left out of the talk going on in the other room?" I asked.

He glared at me for a moment, but then he grinned back despite himself. "Nah," he said. "Hoss'll fill me in later. Why'd you do it, Reuben?"

This time I told him the story. But I also told him that I didn't want to dwell on it. I had my reasons for that—I just couldn't think of Rosalind too much right now or I would fall to pieces. And I wasn't about to do that in front of him.

He seemed to understand that. And I think he understood, even better than Adam, why I did what I did.

Me and Joe are a lot alike, when you come right down to it. We're both hot-blooded and hot-tempered. We both have a touch of Romeo in us, I reckon. We could both fall in love hard and fast. And we could both fall into a murderous rage if sufficiently provoked—the kind of rage that made Romeo kill Tybalt in the wake of Mercutio's death.

But that said, I don't think Joe would have done what I did. He might have raised his gun at Jack Clayton, intending to shoot, but I don't think he'd have pulled the trigger. He'd have known that he would have to face his family afterward.

Would I have pulled that trigger if Adam had been like a brother to me beforehand? I've looked up to Adam for as long as I've known him, but that's not the same as seeing him as a brother. There was always a distance between us before now. The sort of distance that's proper between a ranch-owner and a hired hand—or so I thought at the time.

In truth, I don't think I would have pulled that trigger if I'd had someone to disapprove of me. My Pa and Ma weren't around to frown at my actions and Celia—well, Celia would understand. But if I'd had an older brother like Adam, I wouldn't have done it. And that just goes to show how much of a fool I am: all this trouble for want of a brother.

I sighed as I sank deeper into the tub. If I hadn't pulled that trigger, Jack Clayton would still be alive. And he might have gone on to treat some other girl just like he treated Rosalind, I reminded myself. But that thought didn't bring me as much comfort as it should have.

"What are you thinking?" Joe asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. His voice was surprisingly tactful: his tone made it clear that I didn't have to answer if I didn't want to.

I put my head under the water to lather up my hair and forced a smile on my face as I came up again. "I was thinking that you put me in mind of Romeo somewhat," I said.

He rolled his eyes. "Miss Jones made us read that play—I couldn't stand it." He paused to smile. "Of course, there are a couple of good lines in there that I've used. They always set the girls swooning."

"I've met Miss Jones once or twice," I said. "I'm surprised that such a prim and proper spinster lets her students read that play."

Joe cocked his head at me. "Why?"

"Because of the stuff Mercutio says," I told him. "That whole play is bawdy, but Mercutio goes above and beyond the call of duty."

That caught Joe's attention. "What does he say?"

I furrowed my brow and did my best to repeat some of Mercutio's more outrageous puns. Once Joe got the drift of them, his eyes were near popping out of his head, but he was laughing just the same.

"I wish I had picked up on that back in Miss Jones's class," he said. "I wonder if Miss Jones understands those puns—I'd have thought she'd die of shock!"

"Yeah, so would I," I agreed.

But Joe narrowed his eyes at me all of the sudden—I suppose the conversation had gotten too comfortable between us. "Did you talk about Shakespeare with Adam up at that line shack?" he demanded.

I nodded. "Yeah—quite a bit."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "No wonder older brother is so taken with you," he said. "But don't think you're going to worm your way into this family."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I'm not trying to take your place, Joe," I said.

His hazel eyes danced at that. "There's no chance of that," he assured me. "I wouldn't let you—even if it meant I had to learn all of Shakespeare by heart."

I grinned again and affected a nonchalance worthy of Mercutio, who had kept on punning even when he was dying. "Tell you what," I said. "I got my Pa's Shakespeare collection over at my aunt's house. It was his pride and joy. If they hang me, I'll leave it to you."

He grinned back. "That still won't make me like you," he warned. "And I ain't going to cherish your memory."

"That's alright," I said as I leaned back in the tub. "I'll try to be brave."


	10. Chapter 10

**For Want of a Brother, Part Ten**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Adam took a bath once I was done—he was almost as muddy and ragged as I had been—and then the household turned in for the night. I slept in Adam's room. I'd never slept in a room that nice before, nor in a bed that plush. I promised myself to savor it, as I was unlikely to have such an experience again.

They had thought about giving me the guest room, but there was that issue of trust again. Mr. Cartwright, I think, wanted as many eyes on me as possible, lest I try to escape into the night. Can't think why I would do that, especially with the roads nigh impassable, but he was taking no chances.

He didn't tell me his thoughts, mind you. In truth, I scarcely spoke two words to him. But I reckon he thought I might have second thoughts about turning myself in. And considering what I had to face from the law, I can't say I blamed him.

So I was to stay with Adam—and Joe and Hoss would stay up in his room as well, taking turns keeping watch on me. But no one had a gun trained on me, I reminded myself. And no one cuffed me or put me on a tether, so I had no cause to complain.

And I didn't mind sharing the room. After all, this wasn't like one of those cramped hotel rooms where you have to fit two or three men to a bed with scarcely an inch between them. And there were no bed bugs or lice either.

I think Adam and I both fell asleep as soon as we hit the blankets—leastways I know I did. I hadn't really slept since before the shooting. I suppose I should have had nightmares after what I did: nightmares about Clayton falling backward, all bullet holes and blood—or maybe nightmares about a noose around my neck. But I was just too exhausted to dream.

I woke up early the next morning, right at daybreak. Adam was still sleeping on the other side of the bed. Joe was dozing in a rocking chair with his feet up on a chest. And Hoss was sprawled in an old, worn, cushiony chair—giving the impression of a man who was somehow comfortable and alert at the same time. He nodded at me when he saw my eyes open, but he didn't say anything.

I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. I had some thinking to do.

Did I regret spurning Adam's offer of freedom? To some extent, I suppose. But I thought about Adam again and how he would have had to live with his conscience after aiding and abetting my escape. He was my brother now and a man doesn't do that to his brother. Besides, I was no coward, I told myself. I had decided to shoot a man to death—with good cause, I thought—and I wasn't afraid to pay the price for it. Even if that price was a noose.

But if I had it all to do over, I wouldn't have pulled that trigger. I would have found some other way to make Clayton pay for what he did to my sister. Some way that left him with his life and the chance to make amends.

For I had robbed him of that chance, hadn't I? Not that it was possible for him to make amends—Rosalind was dead, after all, and he couldn't undo that. But maybe, if he still had his life, he could have found some way to make his miserable existence worthwhile.

Not that I think he would have. Like as not, he'd have stayed just as selfish and cutthroat as he'd always been.

Of course, there wasn't much I could do to make my own life worthwhile now. That was a fine piece of irony, wasn't it?

But I could make sure that I didn't let Adam down—that was one thing I could do. And, to that end, I promised myself that I would never regret my decision to face the law. Not even if I hanged. I would just make what arrangements I could to provide for Celia, and then I would face my fate like a man.

Adam began to stir just about then. I heard him yawn as he rolled over to face me. His eyes had a sort of glassy, just-woke-up look to them.

"How you doing, kid?" he murmured.

I managed a smile. "Well enough," I said. "I ain't never stayed in a room this nice before."

He chuckled at that as he propped himself up on his elbow. Then he stifled another yawn. "Listen, Pa, Hoss and I talked about your situation last night," he told me. "We decided that it'd be best if Hoss went to fetch Sheriff Coffee. We want him with us when we bring you to Virginia City—that way, if we run into the posse, no one will have an excuse to shoot you."

"But I may not be able to get in today," Hoss put in. "Depends on how the roads are—and there looks to be another storm coming."

Joe must have woken up at the sound of the conversation, for the rocking chair creaked suddenly and he put in his two cents. "It don't matter," he said after a long yawn of his own. "If we can't get anywhere, than neither can the posse."

Adam nodded in agreement as he pushed himself up and out of bed. "We want you to keep to the house, though," he said to me. "I'd just as soon not have the other hands realize you're here."

"Let's talk about it over breakfast," Hoss said. "I'll bet Hop Sing's getting ready to cook flapjacks and to perform some miracle with that salted pork we've saved up for the winter. I'd best go see what I can fetch for him."

Joe and Adam just shrugged, but Hoss took that as an indication of approval for his plan. He eased himself out of the chair and then scurried out of the room. If a man his size can be said to scurry, that is.

Joe shook his head in his wake. "Nothing gets him moving like the thought of food."

Adam was already getting dressed by now. "You can borrow some clothes from me," he told me as he buttoned up his shirt. "We're almost the same height—just help yourself."

"Thank you," I said as I climbed out of the bed and glanced at his wardrobe.

He nodded and left the room in search of his Pa, promising to return directly. I turned to look at Joe.

"Am I—am I supposed to eat breakfast with you all?" I asked.

"Of course," he answered, raising his eyebrows at me. "Why wouldn't you?"

I shrugged. "I've never been invited to dine with your family before."

He grinned at that. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But you're here—so I suppose we'll just have to lower our standards."


	11. Chapter 11

**For Want of a Brother, Part Eleven**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Breakfast was an awkward affair. My shooting of Jack Clayton wasn't exactly proper table conversation, but it was damned hard for anyone to think of anything else—not with me sitting there. But at length Adam began talking of a potential business deal out in San Francisco and the rest of the Cartwrights seized on that. They spoke about it with more animation, I reckon, than they would have at any other time.

There was another serious conversation after breakfast—and this time I was part of it. Adam had already told Mr. Cartwright and Hoss about Rosalind last night. And I had told Joe about her, so we all knew the story. We sat down in the great room and started discussing my legal options.

I can't say for certain what Mr. Cartwright thought of me. I don't think he would ever have offered to help me escape, as Adam had. And I wondered again if Adam had mentioned that offer to his Pa.

But one thing was clear: Mr. Cartwright was appalled by the way Jack Clayton had treated my sister. And, as the father of a hot-headed son, I think he was hoping that I wouldn't hang for my crime.

I don't think Hoss wanted me to hang either, but only Joe really understood what I had done. Somehow, I think, he could picture himself doing the same—or at least coming close—if it had been his sister.

The conversation was mostly about finding a lawyer for me. Joe had little to add to that, so he went out to see to the hands and to assign what work could be done, weather providing. Hoss kept wondering over to the window, checking on the sky. But Mr. Cartwright and Adam discussed every defense lawyer they had ever met.

When they reached a decision they could both agree on—some San Francisco big shot—I just went along with it. I didn't know any lawyers myself, so I would just have to trust their judgment. And I would have to accept their charity, for I knew that I couldn't afford the kind of defense mastermind they wanted for me. I had known that all along, but I hadn't given it much thought before now.

When the conversation was finished, I walked over to Adam. He was standing behind his Pa's desk, looking over a ledger.

"I'm not sure—I'm not sure your Pa will appreciate spending the Ponderosa's money on the likes of me," I whispered as I stepped up beside him.

"He's willing to spend it, considering the circumstances," he said. "You've impressed him somewhat by your decision to turn yourself in. And it doesn't matter anyway," Adam continued with a shake of his head. "It'll be mostly my money."

"I have some saved—"

But he stopped me from saying anything more. "I know," he said as he placed an arm around my shoulders. "But you have to keep that aside for Celia, in case the worst comes to worst."

I forced myself to crack a smile at that. "And how are you going to feel about all that money you wasted if they go and hang me anyway?"

He grinned back and tousled my hair. "You're worth wasting the money on," he assured me.

Just then Hoss announced that he was going to make a try for Virginia City, providing the roads were in decent enough condition. The sky looked ominous, he said, but nothing was happening yet. It might just clear up. And he could send a wire to the lawyer while he was there.

Adam agreed. He wanted Sheriff Coffee here as quickly as possible. The sooner I turned myself in, he figured, the better.

Joe came back in after Hoss left and stayed down in the great room with me, along with Mr. Cartwright and Adam. Once again, I suspected that Ben Cartwright wanted as many eyes on me as he could spare.

Adam decided to teach me how to play chess. I knew the basic moves of the pieces, but I didn't know the strategy. So we sat down by the fire and talked about openings, middles, and end-games. I enjoyed that—it was a pity I'd never really learned the game before. With some practice I might be able to provide Adam with reasonable competition.

It began to snow again late in the afternoon, before Hoss got back. He'd had enough time to make it into Virginia City, but we weren't sure if he would make it back today.

But we needn't have worried. He got back right before sundown—not on his horse, but in a Brougham carriage. That ain't the hardiest of carriages and it wasn't the one I would have chosen for rough weather. But it handles nice, given that the forewheels are capable of sharp turns. And it takes only one horse to drive it, so I could understand the choice.

I saw it from the window, where I was standing behind Adam and Little Joe. Poor Hoss was sitting out in the box seat, shivering with the driver. I couldn't see who was inside, but a Brougham will generally fit two in relative comfort.

Mr. Cartwright went outside to greet Hoss and whoever else was with him. Joe, Adam and I stayed inside, riveted to the window.

"Who do we know that drives a Brougham?" Joe asked his older brother.

Adam's voice was tight as he answered. "Only one person I can think of," he said.

I stared at the carriage as Sheriff Coffee climbed out of it, followed by a man I'd never seen before. He was a little older than me—I'd guess that he was in his mid-twenties. And he was a good looking fellow from what I could see of him. He walked with a cane, though. That wasn't uncommon, but it seemed like an affectation in someone his age.

Adam swore under his breath. At that same moment, I realized that the cane wasn't for show. The fellow was using it to 'feel' the ground in front of him.

I swallowed hard and turned my head toward Adam. "Who is that?" I demanded. But I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

He sighed. "That's Drew," he said. "That's Jack Clayton's little brother."


	12. Chapter 12

**For Want of a Brother, Part Twelve**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Joe and I stared at the blind man outside while Adam shrugged himself into his coat and put on his hat. He ordered me to do whatever Sheriff Coffee said, without argument, and then he strode outside. Joe and I stayed by the window.

Ben Cartwright, Sheriff Coffee and Hoss were all talking together outside while Drew Clayton was standing a little apart. Mr. Cartwright paused to direct the driver of the Brougham toward the barn and then turned back to the others. I watched as all four of them turned to come inside.

I saw both Hoss and Mr. Cartwright offer Drew their arm, so as to help him in, but he refused them. He just used his cane and, I think, the sound of their voices to guide him toward the door.

All four of them stopped when Adam got out there and exchanged a few more words. Then Adam offered Drew his arm—and though Drew hesitated, this time he didn't refuse.

I took a deep breath as they entered the house. Once they were all inside, Sheriff Coffee gave me a long, slow looking-over.

"Do you admit to shooting Jack Clayton?" he asked.

I swallowed hard and managed to nod.

"And you came back here with Adam in order to turn yourself in?" he continued.

I couldn't seem to find my voice, so I just nodded again.

The sheriff nodded back. "Well, then, I'm placing you under arrest. We won't get you back to Virginia City tonight—but that doesn't change your situation."

He paused and turned to Adam, who was still arm and arm with Drew. "You, Hoss and Joe can swear yourself in as deputies," Coffee ordered. "That way we can make sure that Reuben is always under the watch of a lawman."

"All right," Adam said, speaking on behalf of all of them.

Sheriff Coffee turned back to me. "Come here, son," he said, holding out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm going to have to put these on you."

"Roy," Mr. Cartwright said, "is that really necessary?"

"He turned himself in on his own," Joe added. "We don't need the cuffs."

I glanced at Joe in surprise. I hadn't expected him to take my part.

But Roy just shrugged and addressed himself to Mr. Cartwright. "Sorry, Ben," he said. "I ain't taking any chances."

I walked over to him and let him cuff my hands in front of me. I couldn't help staring at Drew Clayton as I did so. He was looking in my direction—but with unseeing eyes. There was this sort of cloudy look to those eyes and too much whiteness, but he didn't wear any shaded spectacles to cover them.

They were hazel eyes, like Joe's. But Drew Clayton was taller than Joe; in fact, I'd reckon he was an inch or two taller than me and Adam. He looked a lot like his older brother—I couldn't help but notice that—and he had himself dandied up the same way.

The tailored look suited him, though. The only thing that marred his looks—apart from his cloudy eyes—was the fact that he had some crooked teeth, like me. But maybe that just kept him from being too pretty.

Drew must have felt me staring at him. "Do you have a voice, Reuben Cobbs?" he asked.

That's when I realized how strange this must be for him—he knew his brother's killer was near him, but he couldn't see me and he hadn't heard me speak yet.

"Yes—yes, sir," I stammered. Damn—I don't know why I added the 'sir.' But it didn't matter. Drew seemed to take it as his due.

He kept staring at me—or at least staring in my general direction. "I heard what happened to your sister," he said at length. "You have my sympathies."

I nodded—but then I remembered that he couldn't see me nod. "Thank you," I managed. "I'm—I'm sorry for what I did to your brother. If I could take it back I would."

He curled his lips at me. "Jack didn't mean for your sister to die—her death was a tragic mistake. But you shot him down in cold blood."

My blood wasn't cold now—it was starting to boil as I remembered Clayton saying he'd be glad to pay for my sister's funeral. But I glanced at Adam before I spoke up. Good thing, cause I could see him willing me to keep my temper in check.

"Your brother wasn't naïve and sheltered, like Rosalind was," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. "He knew what he was doing. I am sorry for shooting him. But don't pretend that he didn't know what might happen to Rosalind when he sent her to that butcher."

Drew let go of Adam's arm and took a step toward me. There was a cold fury on his face now. And there was no mistaking that look—he wanted my blood.

Adam placed a hand on his shoulder. "Drew," he said. His tone was somehow warning and pleading at the same time.

Drew spoke over his shoulder to him. "Don't worry, Adam," he said softly. "I just want to know what my brother's killer looks like." Then he turned back to me. "Let me feel your face," he ordered.

I stared at him for a long moment—I didn't want Jack Clayton's brother touching me. But it was the only way he had of seeing me, so I couldn't rightly refuse him.

"All right," I said at last. And then I took a step nearer to him.

He put one hand out and found my face. I stood stock still as he felt every inch of it, but at length he let his hand fall. Then he reached out for Adam, who took him by the arm again.

"You mean to keep this boy from hanging, Adam?" Drew asked.

"Yes," he said. He spoke quietly, but Drew didn't miss the determination in his voice.

"Well then," Drew told him, keeping his voice equally soft, "it looks like we're at odds again."


	13. Chapter 13

**For Want of a Brother, Part Thirteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

I had ample time to study Drew Clayton that night. And one thing I noticed, consistently, is that he wouldn't allow anyone but Adam to help him. I think it hurt his pride to accept help—he couldn't stand to admit that his blindness made it necessary for him to rely on other human beings. Yet he could tolerate Adam's assistance.

But despite Adam's presence, he still wanted to be as independent as possible. And to that end, in the hours before dinner, Adam took him up to the guest room and helped him learn how to get from it to the main room, and then back upstairs again. They did this by counting the steps it took him to get from one place to another.

I heard snatches of their conversation as I sat down in the great room playing whist with Joe, Hoss and Sheriff Coffee:

"So it's about eight steps from the doorway of your room until you can reach out and touch the railing," Adam was saying.

"And another two to the top step of the stairs," Drew added. "I'd like to try the hallway again, just using my cane."

Joe, meanwhile, was shaking his head over their efforts. "It ain't like he's going to be here that long," he commented. And then he laid down the worst card possible, causing Sheriff Coffee—his partner—to let out a string of curses.

"Joe, you know that Reuben is out of Spades! He'll trump that."

Joe cringed. "Sorry," he said.

I bit back a smile, grateful that I had Hoss for a partner. Hoss has to take his time and think things through, but he invariably makes the right play.

"I can understand Drew wanting to be able to get around on his own," Hoss put in. "If this new storm is as bad as the last one, we could be stuck indoors all day tomorrow."

Joe shrugged. "I suppose," he said, grudgingly. "But Hoss, why'd you bring him back here to begin with? What were you thinking?"

"Easy Joe," Sheriff Coffee said. "Drew was in the jailhouse, waiting for news from the posse when Hoss arrived. I think he was annoyed to death that he couldn't ride with the posse himself. Once he heard that Reuben was at the Ponderosa, willing to turn himself in, nothing was going to prevent him from driving out here."

I felt a sharp pang of guilt. It wasn't that I liked Drew—I'm pretty sure I despised him—but I could imagine how frustrating it must feel to be incapable of joining the posse that was hunting for your brother's killer.

I let out a sigh, but I kept quiet as we played out the hand. Meanwhile, I could still hear Adam and Drew upstairs. I had to strain my ears, but I could hear them. They were in the guest room, but they must have left the door open, at least a little.

From what I could figure from their conversation, Adam was bringing Drew over to each and every piece of furniture and helping him count the steps between them all. Drew needed to understand the layout of the room so that he could get from the bed to a chair easily enough, or find the pitcher of water and the basin with his hands, or find the chamber pot.

One thing I found curious was that Adam seemed to know, without being told, just what sort of help Drew needed. What they were doing--counting steps and all--made sense, but I wouldn't have known how to help a blind man without someone explaining it to me first. Adam must have done all this for Drew before.

I stared across the table at Hoss. "Why does Drew accept Adam's help when he scorns everyone else's?" I asked, keeping my voice low. "Has Adam helped him out before?"

Sheriff Coffee raised his head at that and stared at Hoss. He was just as curious as I was, I think. But Hoss and Joe exchanged glances, as if debating how much to say. Or, on second thought, maybe they were trying to figure out how much they actually knew.

"Yeah," Hoss said at length. "Adam has helped him out before. When Jack Clayton built the new house—that monstrosity in the center of town—Adam stayed as a guest for a few weeks, helping Drew get acquainted with it."

I blinked at that. "Adam and Drew are that close?"

Hoss shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm not sure they even like each other. They've been rivals in business more than once."

"But they've been allies in politics," Joe put in. "They're both fervent supporters of Northern aggression," he added with a wry smile.

I grinned at him. By Northern aggression,' Joe meant Lincoln's desire to preserve the Union. "I take it you support Southern independence?" I asked.

He grinned back. "I do," he confirmed. "And where do you stand, Reuben Cobbs?"

But I shook my head, refusing to be drawn in. "I ain't touching that," I said. "Not just now. I'd rather know why Drew accepts help from Adam."

Hoss set down his cards and furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure I can explain it. For one thing, they got a history together. Drew had to nurse Adam through a fever when they were both stuck at some old way station. Wonder how he managed that, being blind and all? 'Course, I think he had a servant with him. I wish I knew the whole story, but Adam's never told it."

I frowned as I considered that. "Maybe Drew don't mind taking help from Adam because he feels that Adam owes him?" I ventured.

Hoss mulled that over. "I reckon that's part of it," he said. "But it ain't everything."

Joe set down his cards suddenly and leaned toward me, all eager-like. He even put his arm around my shoulders. I instinctively hid my own cards--Joe's a good fellow, but I wouldn't put it past him to cheat. One quick peek, they say, is worth hours of strategy.

"You could get the story out of older brother," he said.

Sheriff Coffee bit back a grin at that, but Hoss brightened. "Yeah," Hoss said, "I reckon you could. He won't be expecting you to try and worm it out of him--you ain't been plaguing him to death about it."

I rolled my eyes. "Look, I'm as curious as you two are, but I ain't about to 'worm' something out of Adam. I'd have to respect his privacy."

But Joe dismissed my scruples with a snort. "Reuben," he said, "a real brother wouldn't think twice about invading Adam's privacy."

I narrowed my eyes at that. "I always tried to respect my sisters' privacy!"

"And look where that got you," Joe retorted. "If you'd have invaded Rosalind's privacy, maybe you'd have known that she'd gotten herself tangled up with Jack Clayton before it was too late."

The table fell dead silent at that. Hoss and Sheriff Coffee both picked up their cards and examined them as if they'd never seen them before. Joe kept his arm around my shoulder, but he was giving me a hard look.

For a moment I wanted to strangle him—or at least punch him in the gut. Fortunately, the cuffs made it hard to do either. I don't think I would have anyway, though. For one thing, I don't think Joe meant it as a barbed comment. And for another, if I wanted to be honest with myself, I'd have to admit that he was right. I was Rosalind's brother--her older and only brother. I ought to have found out what she was up to.

I shut my eyes. "I knew she was seeing someone," I managed, dropping my voice to a whisper. "She had a glow to her, you know? But I figured that she had met some young fellow from town. I never dreamed that--well, my Pa and Ma and later my aunt raised her right. I thought she knew not to allow a man like Jack Clayton such liberties."

Joe shrugged. "God only knows what he promised her," he said. "And even if you had known, you might not have been able to stop her from seeing him. Not unless you locked her up somewhere, anyway, and that might not have worked either. But my point is that sometimes family members have to invade each other's privacy."

It was my turn to snort. "Even when it's just to gratify our curiosity?"

Joe had the grace to blush at that, but he managed a smile too. "Yeah," he said. "Even then."


	14. Chapter 14

**For Want of a Brother, Part Fourteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

As curious as I was about Drew, I couldn't stomach the notion of sitting down at a dinner table with him—and I didn't think he'd be able to stomach my presence either. So I took my meal up in Adam's room.

There always had to be a lawman watching me—and preferably more than one. With that in mind, 'Deputy' Adam spent the first half of dinner up with me and then 'Deputies' Hoss and Little Joe spent the second half.

So Adam and I had the chance to talk alone for the first time since we'd gotten to the Ponderosa. And I had my chance to worm the story out of him--but, in the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I told him about the conversation over the whist game instead. That drew a laugh from him as he cut my meat for me, in deference to the cuffs.

"Hoss and Joe have made far too much of that," he said, shaking his head. "Drew and I, two of his servants, and a couple of strangers were all in a coach accident. It was serious one. One of the strangers--a fellow from Carson City, it turned out--died of his injuries. The only good thing is that we weren't too far from one of the old way stations."

He paused, thinking back on the accident. "There was no doctor, so we had to manage as best we could for the night. One of Drew's servants rode off for help. The rest of us did what we could to get the injured parties comfortable. I came down with the devil of a fever, and Drew and his valet were the only two who were well enough to help me through it. But by early afternoon the next day, help arrived. I was still sick, so I don't remember getting out of there, but Drew saw to it that I made it home."

"And that's all there is to the story?" I asked, smiling a little.

"That's all there is," he agreed, smiling back.

"Then why doesn't he mind you helping him?" I asked.

Adam shrugged. "You were probably right--he probably feels that I owe him. He also knows that I respect his business acumen. And he knows that I won't condescend to him. Blind or not, he's a formidable opponent."

I thought about that. "He must trust you more than he trusts most folks," I ventured.

Adam just shrugged again.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So even though you owe him, you're still willing to oppose him in business matters?

"Yes," Adam answered. "I've had to—and, to his credit, Drew doesn't think less of me for that."

"Why have you had to?" I asked.

"We both hold a large number of shares for the same mine," he explained, "and we clash over the operation of it." He paused and sighed. "Unfortunately Drew is just like Jack in one respect--he won't spend money merely to improve the safety of the miners. As far as he's concerned, the men who work the mines know the risks they're taking. No one's forcing them to accept the job."

I snorted at that and looked away. "Well, why should he?" I asked. "I reckon they're not real to him, those miners. Any more than they were to his brother. Or any more than Rosalind was to his brother."

I caught Adam nodding from the corner of my eye. "That's about the size of it," he agreed. "On the whole, though, I'd say that Drew's a better man than his brother was. Or at least he has the potential to be."

I turned back to him. "Adam, if Jack Clayton was anything to judge by, then Drew is a powerful man. He'll pull every string he can to get me hanged--and I doubt he'll have to pull all that many. I think a judge and jury will be predisposed to see me swing. Maybe you oughtn't waste your time and money on the fancy lawyer. You should spend your efforts where you can do some good. Like fighting Drew over the welfare of the miners."

Adam stared at me for almost a full minute after that. "Tell me something, Reuben," he said at length. "Why are you so anxious to get your neck into a noose?"

I shrugged. "I'm not," I said. "But my odds aren't good, Adam. Besides, there's an argument that says I deserve to hang for what I did. And I'm not afraid to," I added defiantly. "Don't think I'm a coward. I'm not afraid to pay the price for killing Jack Clayton."

"Is it that you aren't afraid to hang?" he asked. "Or is that you are afraid to face life in prison?"

I drew a sharp breath at that. But I managed to turn it into a bitter laugh. "You're right," I owned. "I told you already, Adam, that I'd rather hang than spend my life that way. I don't want to face the lash and I don't want to face--well, whatever I'd have to face from the other prisoners. If it were a matter of fifteen or twenty years, maybe I could stand it. But not life. What would be the point of going on? How could I make anything worthwhile of myself?"

He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Whatever happens," he said, "I can make sure that you're not put in a prison where you'll be whipped within an inch of your life."

I nodded. "Yeah, I reckon Cartwright influence can prevent that. But you can't protect me from the other horrors a prison has to offer, Adam."

He looked away from me this time. "That's true," he admitted. But then he forced himself to turn back to me. "Reuben, as long as you're alive, I can work on your behalf. But I need to know that you're going to have the courage to face prison."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll find the courage, Adam--if you really think it's worth finding. But I still don't see how you're going to prevent me from hanging in the first place."

"You'll have to leave that to me," he said.

But I wouldn't let him get away with that. "Tell me, Adam, please. This is my life, after all. What do you have in mind?"

He considered that. "All right," he said at last. "If Drew were to ask for leniency in your case, I think we could ensure that you don't get the noose."

I stared at him. "Didn't you hear Drew earlier?" I asked. "He wants me dead. And I don't even blame him. Why would he change his mind?"

Adam favored me with a wry smile. "Well, just knowing that you'd rather face the noose than life in prison will go along way with him, I suspect."

I couldn't help but smile back at that. "Well, yeah," I agreed. "That might induce him toward leniency."

"Just so," Adam agreed. "But I have to know that you won't give up once you're behind bars, Reuben."

I sighed and set my plate aside. "I don't suppose I'll try to hang myself, if that's what's worrying you."

"Good," he said. "Now I'll see if I can reason with Drew."

I cringed, remembering the feel of Drew's hand on my face--not to mention the fury of his expression. "Good luck on that," I said.


	15. Chapter 15

**For Want of a Brother, Part Fifteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Hoss and Little Joe were not satisfied with my report. They both gave me a look that made it clear I had failed in my brotherly duties.

I was sitting up in Adam's bed now. Joe had borrowed the key from Sheriff Coffee and unlocked my cuffs long enough for me to change, so I was back in the night shirt that I had borrowed from Adam last night. Hoss and Joe were still dressed, lounging in chairs on either side of the bed.

Little Joe would be sleeping in here tonight, so that Sheriff Coffee could have his room. He and Adam would take turns staying up to watch over me. I felt kind of guilty, knowing that they'd only get half a night's rest, while I'd have this plush bed the whole night. But somehow I made my peace with that.

"That can't be all that happened between Adam and Drew," Little Joe was complaining.

"Yeah," Hoss agreed. "But then you didn't know those two before the accident, Reuben--they despised each other. Drew would never have let Adam help him back then."

Joe nodded. "They must of reached some kind of understanding in the wake of the wreck."

I thought about the sparse way Adam had told the story--he had given me the events, but not, I suppose, the meaning behind them. But I couldn't bring myself to blame him for that. I still felt that he was entitled to some privacy. Besides, some things are hard to explain.

"I reckon they did," I said at last, "but that's between them, ain't it?"

Hoss and Joe exchanged glances. I could read them perfectly--they had decided that I was hopeless.

"You know what this is?" Joe asked Hoss.

"What?" Hoss returned.

"It's hero-worship. Reuben is too busy kissing the ground that older brother walks on to be of any use to us."

Hoss looked at me, made a kind of 'hrrrmph' sound and crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes. "It ain't hero-worship," I said.

They exchanged glances again—significant glances.

I sighed. "Ok," I said. "It's a little bit of hero worship. But remember, I never had an older brother before. And I kind of like it. Besides," I added, glaring at Joe, "I seen the way you look up to Adam sometimes."

"But I have enough sense to hide it from him," Joe retorted. "He's a tyrant, Reuben. If we gave him his head, he'd be controlling everyone and everything on the Ponderosa. It's our job to keep him in check, not to encourage him."

"Well, I don't mind him controlling me," I said with a shrug. "Not right now, anyways. But I'll wager that Drew ain't going to let Adam control him. That'll keep him in check."

Hoss frowned and uncrossed his arms. "That's true--Drew don't hero-worship Adam." He paused and gave me a worried look. "Are you sure you ain't afraid of hanging?"

I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. "I don't think I have a right to be afraid--not after what I did to Jack Clayton," I said. "Besides, I keep reminding myself what Julius Caesar said in Shakespeare's play : 'Cowards die many times before their death; the valiant never taste of death but once.'"

Joe considered that. "That ain't a bad line," he said.

"Yeah," Hoss agreed. "That Shakespeare had a way with words."

I managed a nonchalant nod at that understatement and went back to the matter at hand. "I'll tell you something, though. I am afraid of life in prison."

"Well, don't think about that now," Joe advised. "If Adam can stop you from swinging--and don't get your hopes up on that--he'll figure out some way to make your life bearable."

He paused and gave me a grudging look. "And for what it's worth, I hope Adam's successful. I don't really want your Pa's Shakespeare books. So I'll give Adam whatever help he needs."

"Me too," Hoss said, reaching over to pat my knee.

I smiled at them both. "Thanks."

Joe was about to say something back, but Hoss grabbed his arm with one hand and raised his finger to his lips with the other. "Shhhh," he said. "Just listen."

We all shut up and perked up our ears. Adam and Drew were coming up the stairs, talking amiably enough. Or so I thought at first. Their words weren't amiable at all.

"Come into my room and have a drink," Drew was saying. "Your servant was kind enough to bring some sherry up earlier. Unless you feel the need to tuck in that devoted spaniel you've adopted."

"Drew," Adam said in a warning tone.

"You're right—my mistake," Drew said. "He's more like a violent pit bull who needs to be put down."

Joe and Hoss both gave me a look warning me to keep my temper in check, but there was no call for it. I could tell that Drew was trying to get a rise out of Adam. Or maybe out of me, since he must have guessed that I could hear him. His voice was soft—but not too soft.

Adam said something back to Drew that I couldn't hear. But whatever it was, it caused Drew to laugh quietly.

"I do," Drew owned. "It's almost worth it, Adam, just to picture the frustrated look on your face as you remind yourself that you can't strike a blind man."

"Don't try me too far," Adam advised. "How about that drink?"

We heard the guest room door open and then close and for a long while we couldn't hear anything else. Whatever Adam and Drew were saying, they were keeping their voices too low for eavesdropping—at least from Adam's room.

Joe was all for sneaking down the hallway and standing outside the guestroom door, but while Hoss and I were trying to dissuade him, we heard the guest door open and then Drew's voice again. His voice stopped all of us cold, because there was no mistaking the genuine anger and grief in it.

"He was my brother, Adam!" he said, his voice harsh and tight. "Take your arm off of me—I don't want your comfort."

"Drew--"

"You saw the body, Adam. He was riddled with bullets."

Adam responded and Drew said something back, but we couldn't hear them. Both men were speaking in whispers again. But I could tell that Drew was crying—or nearly crying—as he spoke.

At length the guest door slammed shut and we heard Adam making his way toward us. I found myself taking a deep breath. I wasn't upset--not at the moment--at how things had gone between Adam and Drew. There'd be time for that later. It sounds crazy, but right now I was just jealous of Drew. He might be blind and he might have lost his brother, but at least he could cry and grieve and mourn.

But me, I still couldn't grieve for Rosalind. I couldn't find the tears for her. I'd seen her pale and lifeless after losing all that blood--but some part of me still couldn't acknowledge that she was dead.


	16. Chapter 16

**For Want of a Brother, Part Sixteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Joe, Hoss and I watched as Adam stepped into the room. He blinked at the sight of all our eyes on him and paused to lean sideways against the doorframe. Then he folded his arms across his chest as he regarded us with a half-hearted smile.

"Do you know," he said, "I almost expected to find one of you outside Drew's door?"

We all shook our heads at that. Even Joe, who had been eager to place himself in that exact spot, put on a face that proclaimed his innocence.

"How's Drew doing?" Hoss asked.

"Not so good, I reckon," I said. "Not judging by the way his voice was breaking."

"No, not so good," Adam agreed. "He and Jack were close."

Joe sighed. "I guess about the only good thing you can say for Jack Clayton is that he always looked after his little brother."

Adam furrowed his brow at that. "That's partly true. But Drew also looked after Jack."

"How so?" Hoss asked, raising his brows.

"Jack could never have handled their business interests on his own," Adam explained. "Drew's the one with the head for investments. But he can't read books or write down figures, so he needs someone he trusts completely to do that part. Someone he knows won't skim off the top. The wrong partner could rob him—"

He stopped and bit his tongue.

"Rob him blind," I finished.

Adam nodded.

I shut my eyes for a moment. "And now he's got no one that he can trust."

"Just so," Adam said. "And he'll have the devil of a time finding someone—Drew's not exactly the trusting sort. But if I know him, he'll figure out how to manage."

"He trusts you, don't he?" Joe asked. "Can't you help him?"

Adam shrugged. "If he asks me, I'll do what I can for him. But that's not the same as having his brother at his side."

I swore under my breath and shook my head. "I wish I had known all this before I went in to confront Jack Clayton about Rosalind."

Joe grimaced. "That would have stopped me too," he confided. "Not that Drew is a saint—he doesn't care much for the lives of his miners, does he Adam?"

"No, he doesn't," Adam said. "No more than Jack did. He doesn't want them dead—he just doesn't want to pay to improve their chances."

I already knew that, but I digested it again. But it didn't help alleviate my guilt—and I don't suppose it should have.

I ought to have known better. I ought to have seen Jack Clayton as a real person. My Ma raised me up on the Bible and my Pa raised me up on Shakespeare and somewhere between those two I should've known the cost of removing a fellow from this world. I should have caught a glimmer of how it would affect the folks he left behind.

At length Adam left his position at the door and crossed over to Joe's chair. I watched as he patted his little brother on the shoulder. "Get to bed," he ordered. "I'll take the first watch."

Joe nodded as he stood up and began to undress. Adam took his spot in the chair and put his feet up on the chest.

Hoss, meanwhile, was easing himself out of his seat. "Reckon I'll get some sleep too," he said. "Goodnight all."

Joe finished changing as he left and then slid under the covers beside me. And he didn't waste much time getting to sleep, I noticed. But I was still wide awake.

I sat there thinking for a long while. At length, Adam broke in on my thoughts.

"How do you feel about the Union?" he asked me.

I started at that. I hadn't expected him to talk politics just now. But I managed a shrug. "I think we should fight to preserve it," I said. "But Mr. Lincoln—President Lincoln, I mean—well, he strikes me as the worst person to lead us in a crisis like this. Hardly anyone's even heard of him."

Adam smiled. "Yeah, he seemed to come out of nowhere. But he has to be pretty canny to have gotten as far as he has. We'll see. At least he's committed to keeping this country together."

"But he ain't committed to abolition," I said. "It seems to me that keeping this country together is only half the battle."

"If the North wins, Reuben, it'll be the end of slavery."

I shrugged again. "Well, I think Mr. Lincoln ought to spell that out."

"I hope he will," Adam said softly.

We both fell quiet after that. At length I shut my eyes and managed to drift off. When I woke up, it was past cock-crow. Adam was beside me, Joe was in the chair and someone was knocking on the door.

"Adam?"

It was Drew's voice—he was the one knocking.

Adam climbed out of bed, tied on a robe and went to answer the door. Sure enough, Drew was standing on the other side of it, holding his cane. He had his trousers and shirt on, but no waistcoat or cravat. He was unshaved too and his hair wanted combing.

"What can I do for you, Drew?" Adam asked.

"I don't have my valet," he answered, keeping his voice low. "Would you—would you mind helping me make myself presentable?"

I could guess what it cost Drew to make that request—especially after last night, when he had refused any comfort from Adam and slammed his door in Adam's face. But Adam took his request in stride.

"Yeah," he answered. "I'll be over to your room in a few minutes."

Drew nodded and began feeling his way back down the hall. Adam watched him go and then shut the door behind him.

Joe yawned from his spot on the chair. "I hope things go better this morning than they went last night," he commented.

Adam shrugged. "They didn't go as badly last night as they seemed," he said. "Drew may decide that there've been enough deaths in this affair without hanging Reuben."

Joe gave his brother a skeptical look. "That seems like an awful lot to ask of someone like Drew Clayton."

"I know," Adam said. "But he's our best chance."

We all fell silent as Adam washed up, got dressed and then left the room. But Joe sprang out of his chair as soon as his older brother was gone.

"Come on," he told me, grabbing me by the arm.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To Hoss's room," he answered. "He's a lot closer to the guest room—we should be able to hear better from there. I don't know why we didn't think of that last night."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Joe, we oughtn't spy on them like that."

"Yes we should," he said with a maddening certainty in his voice. "Besides, you don't have a choice."

"How do you figure that?" I demanded.

He grinned at me and put his arm around my shoulders. "I'm a deputy," he explained, "and you're my prisoner. You got to obey orders and follow me around. Now are you coming?"

I grinned back at him—I couldn't help myself. "I don't have a choice, right?"


	17. Chapter 17

**For Want of a Brother, Part Seventeen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Hoss was standing at his window when Joe and I crept into his room. He wasn't dressed yet—he was wearing this checkered night shirt that only he could wear without looking ridiculous. Well, maybe he looked a little ridiculous. But it would take a brave man to tell him so. He's a big fellow, Hoss.

His mind was on the weather. "Look at that snow coming down," he said to us, by way of greeting. "There ain't no end in sight. I hate to think what's going to happen to the livestock."

Joe nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I'll bet Pa's worrying himself to death over it. But we'll get through."

I stepped up next to Hoss and stood by the window as well. But my first thought wasn't about the livestock—it was about the roads between here and Virginia City. They wouldn't be clear anytime soon. It looked like I had a reprieve from whatever fate awaited me. I'd have to put up with the cuffs, but not with a jail cell.

"You reckon your Pa minds me being here?" I asked. "It's the devil of a situation for him."

Hoss put a hand on my shoulder. "Pa don't mind. He'll do his best by you, Reuben--for Adam's sake if for no better reason."

"Speaking of Adam," Joe said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "he's in the guest room now with Drew. Let's see what we can hear."

Hoss frowned. "Not much, I reckon, unless they left their door open."

Joe crept back to Hoss's door. Then he peeked out at the guest room door, but it was closed. But that didn't stop him from tip-toeing up to it and nudging it open. I held my breath, certain he'd be caught, but that door didn't creak a lick. Joe got back to Hoss's room without incident.

Judging by their voices, Adam and Drew never noticed that the door was now open. I ought to have objected. We couldn't even pass this off as casual eavesdropping—it was outright spying. But my curiosity was such that I was willing to make my peace with that. Especially as I caught the drift of their conversation.

"What do you want me to say?" Drew was asking Adam. "I know Jack's faults—none better. He was arrogant, thoughtless and the worst sort of nouveau riche. God help us, he never fooled anyone with his pretensions. But he was still my brother."

"Tilt your head back," Adam ordered. "And stop fidgeting—I've got a razor near your throat."

"And wouldn't you love to do me in with it," Drew commented.

He sounded as if he were smiling, at least a little. Adam chuckled, at any event.

Drew fell quiet for a while after that, but when he spoke up again there was a harshness to his voice that seemed to mingle with the grief in it. "Damn it, Adam, I always knew that Jack would get himself killed over some bit of muslin. You can add that to his faults: he was a fool where women were concerned."

I felt myself freeze up at that—and I felt my anger start to churn. Both Hoss and Joe put their hands on my arms to keep me from doing anything stupid.

"Rosalind wasn't just a 'bit of muslin,'" Adam said softly. "She was someone's sister, Drew."

Drew snorted. "I know," he said. "That's been made abundantly plain." He paused to sigh. "If Jack had asked me, I'd have told him to marry the girl. Or, at the very least, to provide for her and the child."

"You wouldn't have cared if he married her?" Adam asked. "Even if she had no dowry or, ah, 'blue blood?'"

"Why should I?" Drew answered. "I never forgot what we were. Our father was just a two-bit gambler. For all Jack's pretensions, he came from nothing. He just happened to get lucky in the Forty-nine."

He paused again and sighed. "I'm sorry the girl is dead—and I can imagine what sort of death it was. But don't expect me to forget what happened to my brother."

"I'm not defending what Reuben did," Adam said. "You know that."

"But you don't want him to hang for it—you're all compassion, aren't you? But if you care so much for him, why do you want him to spend his life in prison?"

Adam kept silent.

Drew seemed to sneer—or so I pictured him—as he spoke up again. "Now we come to it," he said. "You don't mean to see him hang or spend his life in prison. You want him sentenced to life and then you want the sentence commuted."

"Yes," Adam said.

"Commuted to what?" Drew asked. "Never mind—I can guess. I suppose you're willing to let the boy take his chances as cannon fodder for Lincoln. But you don't have the connections to pull that off, Adam. For a lesser crime, perhaps. But not for murder."

"Between us we have the connections," Adam pointed out.

I reckon that Drew considered that some before he answered. "Yes," he said at length. "I suppose we do. But I'm not going to play along. Unlike that boy, I'm not your devoted slave."

Adam sighed. "I don't want your devotion, Drew," he said. "Just your cooperation. Rosalind is dead; Jack is dead. Isn't that enough?"

Drew's voice was cold and hard as he answered. "Not for me," he said.


	18. Chapter 18

**For Want of a Brother, Part Eighteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

It took a minute for my brain to catch up with that exchange. But I remembered last night, when Adam had unexpectedly asked me my views on the war. Now I understood why.

I shut my eyes for a moment and thought back to Jack Clayton and the shocked look on him when I pulled out my gun. His face had frozen in that expression as I kept cocking my Colt and firing over and over. And then I couldn't see his face anymore—there was too much blood splattered on it.

Part of me never wanted to shoot a gun again. Back when I had told Adam that perhaps I had done enough shooting to last me a lifetime, I wasn't kidding. But fighting for the Union, I reckoned, was different. I didn't relish the thought of aiming a rifled musket at a Reb, nor of plunging a bayonet into his belly, but it wouldn't be murder.

I reckon a Reb can bleed just as much as Jack Clayton, though.

And there was my own courage to consider. Hanging was one thing—death by bayonet was something else. But it was better to die fighting for a cause, I decided, than on the gallows. And I'd rather the army than prison.

In the end, though, it wouldn't be my choice. Once I decided to turn myself in and not to accept Adam's help in escaping, I'd sacrificed the right to determine my fate. Or maybe I sacrificed it back when I shot Jack Clayton. Either way, I understood that and accepted it. But I could appreciate the irony of my situation: my life was in the hands of Jack Clayton's little brother.

I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I missed part of the conversation at hand. But it didn't signify, for both Adam and Drew seemed to have drifted into silence. And when they did talk, it was only to discuss the valet duties that Adam had taken on for the morning—and probably until Drew had his real valet back at his beck and call.

They left the guestroom together—at which point Adam noticed the open door. He must have remembered shutting it, for he glared into Hoss's room as he passed us with a look that threatened vengeance. Neither Hoss nor Joe looked concerned, but I felt differently. I had to figure out how to defend myself with my hands cuffed.

I had planned to take my breakfast upstairs, but at the last minute I changed my mind. I figured that Drew might as well get to know me before he begged a judge to put a noose around my neck. Why should he be content with feeling my face?

That was my thinking, at any event. But I got more than I bargained for.

Hop Sing set an extra long table for breakfast. Mr. Cartwright sat at the head of it, with Drew Clayton on one side of him and Sheriff Coffee on the other. Adam sat next to Drew and Joe sat next to Adam. Hoss sat next to Sheriff Coffee and I sat next to Hoss.

I saw no sign of Drew's driver—nor had I noticed him in the house last night. I reckon the fellow was relegated to the bunkhouse.

The meal was peculiar only in that it seemed so normal. I suppose everyone had gotten used to the idea of a murderer, the brother of the victim and a sheriff all under the same roof. But we kept to safe topics of conversation: the storm, its effect on the livestock, news on the railroads, an upcoming wedding in Carson City and so forth.

What did feel odd, though, was the way Drew would glance in my direction—despite the fact that he couldn't actually see me. I did my best to ignore him and the eerie whiteness of his eyes.

But as Hop Sing cleared the dishes, Drew spoke to me directly. "Do you play chess, Reuben?" he asked.

I swallowed my last bit of salted pork. "Yes, sir," I answered. "A little, I mean. I know how the pieces move, but I'm only just learning the strategy."

I could have kicked myself for calling him 'sir' again. That annoyed me almost as much as hearing him refer to me as a 'boy.' Drew couldn't have been more than five years my senior.

"Well, let's see what we can do to improve your game," he said.

My mouth dropped open at that and everyone else fell silent. Was this some kind of peace offering? Not likely. I supposed it might be a test of some sort—either that, or he just wanted to destroy me anyway he could.

"Mr. Cartwright," Drew continued, "may we use your board?"

Ben Cartwright looked apprehensive—I don't think he liked this idea any more than I did. He sent me a questioning glance, but I just shrugged. I was too curious to turn Drew down.

"Certainly," Mr. Cartwright said. "Adam, will you set it up?"

"Sure, Pa," he answered.

Adam left the table and crossed over to the great room. I watched him bring out the board and the pieces. He didn't look as disturbed by Drew's request as everyone else did. I suppose that should have eased my mind. He knew Drew better than anyone else here, after all.

I turned back to Drew. "How—how do you manage to play?" I asked. "Do you have to feel all the pieces to see where they are?"

He smiled at that and shook his head. "No," he said. "You just have to tell me which piece you're moving on your turn—and where you're moving it to. And you'll have to move my pieces for me; I'll tell you which square. Are you familiar with chess notation?"

"No," I answered.

"Each square has a name and number—Queen's Rook 3, for example. Adam can show you the board and explain how it works."

I furrowed my brow as I took that in. If Drew wasn't going to feel the pieces—and I could see how that would be awkward and messy—he'd have to keep track of every single move in his head. Even if the rest of us refreshed his memory from time to time, that'd be quite a feat.

"How do you want to choose colors?" Adam asked.

"Reuben can take white for the first match," Drew answered.

He stood up as he spoke, took hold of his cane and made his way into the great room. Adam took his arm and led him to the correct chair. I sighed and excused myself from the table so that I could join them.

Drew demolished me in the first game—and he never once had to ask me or anyone else to remind him where each piece was. He carried all that information in his head.

He didn't gloat about his victory, though, and that surprised me. He tutored me instead, explaining not only what I'd done wrong, but why it was wrong. And he wasn't condescending or sneering about it. Adam, meanwhile, would add his two cents. Generally he agreed with Drew, but sometimes they got into arguments about what advice to give me.

We played for hours. Adam stayed with us the whole time, while the others took turns playing checkers along side us or braving the storm to check the barn and the bunkhouse. I got better with each game, but it would be a long while, I realized, before I could provide a challenge for the likes of Drew or Adam.

After Drew checkmated me for what must have been the tenth time, I sighed and leaned back in my chair. It was just me, Drew and Adam now. I was on one side of the chess table, Drew was on the other and Adam was sitting on the edge of the fireplace.

Hoss and Little Joe were in the bunkhouse. Sheriff Coffee and Mr. Cartwright, meanwhile, were sitting at the dining table drinking coffee. They weren't far from us, but they were deep in their own conversation.

I stared at Drew long and hard—and then I decided to take advantage of our privacy in order to speak my mind. And this time I promised myself that I wouldn't call him 'sir.'

"I appreciate these lessons, Drew," I said. "But what's the point of them? You want me to hang as soon as possible—I won't get good enough to give you a game before I reach the gallows."

He gave me a wry but appreciative grin. "I know," he owned. Then he paused and cocked his head at me. "Do you know what Adam wants for you?"

I sent Adam an apologetic glance—I reckon he was still sore about the spying.

"Yes," I answered, turning back to Drew. "And I know you're not keen to help him."

"That's true," he said. "And even if I agreed to help Adam, I couldn't guarantee you that his plan would work. We'd have a reasonable chance, that's all. But I can't promise you that you wouldn't swing or end up in prison for the rest of your life."

I glanced at Adam again, but his eyes were trained on Drew. I bit my lip and then addressed Drew.

"Do you still want me to swing?" I asked.

He mulled that over and then smiled a little. "Yes," he said. "But I'll be just as satisfied if a Confederate shell blows you to bits."

I grinned back at him. "I couldn't guarantee you that I'd get killed," I told him, mimicking his voice. "We'd have a reasonable chance, that's all."

He and Adam both laughed at that. "I suppose your odds depend on how long the war lasts," Drew commented. "But I'll wager it's going to be longer than anyone realizes."

Adam nodded. "It's not going to be a six month affair, as promised."

"No, certainly not," Drew agreed.

He paused for a moment, considering. At length he turned toward Adam. "My help won't come for free," he warned.

"I figured as much," Adam said, leaning toward him. "What's your price?"

Drew didn't answer that directly. "Come Spring, I'm going to Washington in order to work for the government," he said instead. "I've been offered a post there before, but—well, Jack was here. But there's nothing to hold me in Virginia City now. And there might even be a diplomatic post in London in the offing."

Adam frowned at that. "I can understand why you want to leave, but what about the mines you own?"

Drew took his time about answering that. "I can sell most of my shares—they'll fetch a pretty penny already. I'm sure your father will gobble them up and then waste his money on new safety measures for the miners," he added dryly.

Adam smiled. "Probably."

"I'll need the cash for new investments," Drew went on. "As for the remaining shares—well, I'll need someone here to look after them. Someone I find capable."

Adam folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you want me to do for you?" he asked.

But Drew shook his head. "No," he said. "It's a pity, because you'd be ideal. But I'll need you with me, whether I land in Washington or London."

Adam's face went white at that. I reckon that was the last thing he expected to hear.

Drew must have sensed his shock. "Adam, I can't do this on my own," he said softly. "I need a business partner I can trust at my side."

Adam was still too stunned to speak, so Drew kept at him. "There's a world of opportunity back east and across the Atlantic," he said. "You know what kind of money we can make during a war—think of the investments you can make on behalf of the Ponderosa. And all on the up and up, I mean. I'm not talking about profiteering."

Adam shut his eyes for a moment and sighed. Then he found his voice. "I know," he managed. "But I'm not your brother, Drew. I can't spend the rest of my life helping you guard your business interests."

"I don't want the rest of your life," Drew said. "I want three years of your partnership."

That gave Adam pause. I could tell that he was tempted—three years didn't sound all that long. And I knew what the chance (or maybe the excuse) to see London meant to him. Hell, I reckon he'd be happy even in Washington. At least he'd be reasonably close to New York and everything that a real city had to offer.

"That's your price?" Adam asked, speaking up again.

Drew nodded. "Yes. Give me three years as my business partner and I'll do everything in my power to dissuade a judge from sentencing Reuben to hang—and to have his sentence commuted to service in the Union Army."

I gave Drew a skeptical look. "You don't think the war's going to last three years, do you?"

"No," he answered, without looking my way. "But I'll need Adam that long regardless. And perhaps a bit longer if we end up in England."

Adam said nothing. He was looking out the window now. I glanced that way too, just in time to see Little Joe, all bundled up, making his way back toward the house.

"Well, Adam?" Drew prompted. "Do we have a deal?"

There was a spark of regret in Adam's eyes as he stared at Little Joe. But he turned back to Drew with a resolute look on his face.

"Yes," he answered. "I'll talk to my family tonight."


	19. Chapter 19

**For Want of a Brother, Part Nineteen**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

I was frantic to get a word alone with Adam after that conversation with Drew. He didn't mind this deal, I told myself. I knew that part of him, at least, wanted to see London or visit New York. Adam loves his Pa's ranch, after a fashion, but I suspect he's a city boy at heart.

And even if I was mistaken, Drew's deal wasn't too bad, was it? Adam would still be working on behalf of the Ponderosa. He'd just have a bit of time to see the world and test out new business ventures, that's all.

But I could be lying to myself. Three years is a long time to go without seeing your family. And as much as I wanted to trade the noose or a lifetime in prison for service in the Union Army, I didn't want to sacrifice Adam for the deal.

And so I followed Adam up to his room before dinner and cornered him. "Is this what you want?" I demanded without prelude.

He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He had his 'I-can't-believe-you're-questioning-my-judgment' smirk on his face. I'd seen that smirk quite a few times when I was working under him.

"Shut the door," he ordered.

I didn't appreciate that smirk, but I obeyed him regardless. Then I turned back to face him. "Is this what you want?" I repeated.

"Yes," he said. "And no. I don't want to leave my family, Reuben, but I won't mind the chance to go back east for a few years." He paused and sighed. "But when I left for college, I missed some of Joe's growing-up years. I've always regretted that."

I thought about that as I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hoss or Little Joe might get married if you give them three years," I said. "That's enough time for them to have a kid as well. And it'd be near impossible for you to get back and forth to visit. "

Adam nodded—and his voice was tight as he answered. "I know."

I frowned at him. "Do we really need Drew's connections?"

"Yes," he said at once. "First of all, if he stands up in court as the victim's blind little brother, begging for you to hang, what judge will refuse him?"

I caught my breath at that. "None," I owned.

"On the other hand, if the victim's blind little brother asks the court for leniency, his word will carry weight," Adam continued. "Moreover, Drew has excellent connections among the judges and in politics. I won't say much for how he came by them--but that's not the issue right now. Between his connections and ours, I think we can get you into the Union Army. But it'd be difficult without his help and impossible with his hindrance."

I cocked my head at him. "Did you expect all along to convince him to help me?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "The best I thought I could do was convince him not to move against you." He paused and gave me a wry smile. "But Drew is full of surprises."

"Yeah," I said. "I can see that. But you don't have to do this for my sake, Adam. I can face whatever's coming. And you've already been more than a brother to me."

He gave me a warm look with those amber eyes of his. "Thank you for that," he said. "But I'm willing to make this deal--for both our sakes."

I made a face. "Joe won't like this," I said. "And I reckon the rest of your family won't either."

He didn't say anything to that--not for a long while. "It's going to be harder to tell Joe than it'll be to tell my Pa," he confided at last. "Of all my family, I think Hoss will understand best. As for Pa--if he knows that this is what I want, or at least that some part of me wants it, he'll give me his blessing. But Joe will resent me. I hope he'll come to understand before I leave. And I hope he'll remember that it's not forever."

"Will you want to be a rancher again after being back east?" I asked.

"It's not the ranching, Reuben," he told me. "It my family and--well, something about this land gets under your skin. I won't be able to leave it forever. But, apart from the fact that I'll miss my Pa and brothers, I won't mind leaving for three years. I was gone longer than that when I went to college."

He uncrossed his arms and dug his hands into his pockets. "I suppose I should speak to my family now," he said. "But I can't leave you here alone, can I?"

"No," I confirmed, smiling a little. "A representative of the law has to have an eye on me all the time."

Adam managed a short laugh. "It's hard to imagine where you'd get off to in this weather. Well, come on downstairs. Sheriff Coffee can watch over you. I can talk things over with Pa, Hoss and Joe up here."

"Do you—do you want me to be there?" I asked. "Things might go better for you if they've got me at hand to blame. And maybe to use as a punching bag."

He grinned at that, but shook his head. "No—I think it's better that you stay out of it. Though I have a feeling Joe will come after you soon enough. Let's hope he remembers that he can't strike a fellow in cuffs."

And so I was relegated to the main room, along with Drew and Sheriff Coffee. We had that crackling fire in front of us—but we could hear Mr. Cartwright loud and clear over it. He was shouting something fierce.

The gist of his speech was that this was a fool idea; that Adam couldn't save the whole world; and that he'd already left home once to go to college. He was supposed to be settling down now, not running off to be near the war.

I narrowed my eyes at that. As Mr. Cartwright kept shouting, it became clear that his real fear was that while he was back east, Adam would seek a commission in the Union Army. In fact, I reckon Mr. Cartwright had that fear even before Adam flattened his family with his news. Perhaps he'd harbored this fear for his son since the news of Fort Sumter reached Virginia City. And that made sense—Adam was an idealist. I could see him leaving the Ponderosa to fight for a cause he believed in.

And so, ironically, the deal that Adam made with Drew worked in his favor. He had to be Drew's business partner for the full three years that he spent back east. Adam might wrangle a government appointment of his own, but he couldn't run off into the army and leave Drew to his own devices. So he was safe from the war. And the war would be long over, surely, by the time Adam's commitment was through.

As for Hoss—we heard his voice a few times. From what I could gather, he was sticking up for Adam's decision and doing his best to reconcile their Pa to it. I reckon he was hurt that Adam meant to leave again—but if it was what his older brother really wanted, then he was willing to support him.

But the one voice I didn't hear was Joe's. I strained my ears near breaking but I couldn't hear a lick from him. There was just a cold, angry silence.

I sighed. The last thing I wanted was to be the cause of a rift between the two brothers. I had a good idea now of just how important a brother was.


	20. Chapter 20

**For Want of a Brother, Part Twenty**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

Dinner was awkward. All right, that was an understatement. It was pretty much a nightmare.

Ben Cartwright sat glowering at the head of the table. Adam was the object of most of his scowling, but every now and then he would cast his eyes on me or Drew. And more often on me—I suppose there wasn't much point in glowering at Drew.

Mr. Cartwright had accepted Adam's plans, it seemed—but he didn't like them.

Joe's sullen, angry mood wasn't much better than his Pa's glare. He kept quiet through most of the meal, speaking up only to snap at someone every now and then.

Hoss, meanwhile, was applying himself to his food. Sometimes he would glance up at his Pa or across the table at Joe, but then he'd shoot an apologetic look at Adam and go straight back to dinner. It was as if he was saying, "I'm sorry, older brother. I've done my best for you, but there ain't no more I can do this moment."

As for Sheriff Coffee, he was looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world just now. But, like Hoss, he seemed to be philosophical about it. His uneasiness didn't stop him from eating.

Adam tried to keep up a light, steady conversation. I tried to join him, but Mr. Cartwright gave me a look that had me shaking in my boots. I reckon he didn't want to hear my voice just now.

He probably didn't want to hear Drew's voice either, but I don't think Drew cared. In fact, Drew seemed to take pleasure in everyone's discomfort. That didn't surprise me. This was the same fellow who didn't want to pay for the safety of his miners.

Yeah, he was also the fellow who was mourning his brother. And he was the fellow who was going to do his best to stop me from hanging. I knew all that.

And I was sorry—with all my heart I was sorry—for his loss. And I knew I was responsible for it. And I was grateful to him for agreeing to help me. But Drew wasn't acting out of the goodness of his heart. Adam had to pay him handsomely for his services.

I shook my head as I stared down at my meal. Adam was going to have his hands full with Drew these next three years. I wondered if he'd have any kind of good influence on the man. Not likely, I decided.

On the other hand, he'd been a good influence on me. And I'd done much worse than Drew. At least Drew wasn't a murderer.

We all made our way to the great room after dinner. All except Joe, that is. He made his way upstairs. I decided to follow him. I knew I wasn't high on his list at the moment, but I still thought it'd be best to let him take his anger out on me.

He paused when he reached the door to Adam's room. "What are you doing up here?" he asked me, placing one hand on the door knob. "Think I want to be stuck minding you right now?"

I forced myself to smile at that. "No, Deputy," I answered. "But I thought you might like to speak your peace to me. Or maybe take a free shot."

He stared at me for a moment and then shrugged. Then he walked into Adam's room, leaving the door open so that I could follow.

He collapsed into a chair. I took the one opposite him.

"This ain't your fault," he began.

I stared at him. That was the last thing I expected him to say. "It's more my fault than Drew's," I said. I felt that I needed to be honest on that point.

But Joe shook his head. "It's not his fault either. It's no one's fault. Why do you think I'm so angry? There's no one to blame."

I held my tongue. I figured it was best to let Joe do the talking right now.

He sighed and turned his head away from me. "The Ponderosa's not enough for Adam—it's not enough to hold him here. He doesn't love it the way the rest of us do."

I frowned. "I think he does," I said. "He told me this place gets under your skin. And he said that he won't be able to stay away for long."

"Yeah, not for long—just for three years," Joe said, turning back to me and rolling his eyes. "But you're right. It'll always be his home. It's just that it means even more than that to Pa."

"And to you and Hoss?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I think so. I mean, I want to get away sometimes too—but that's just because I hate being the youngest."

"Really?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him. "I hate being the oldest."

Joe grinned. "I know. That's why you're so damn happy letting Adam boss you around."

I smiled at that and we both fell silent. But I kept staring at him, remembering the look I'd seen in Adam's eyes as he watched Joe earlier. Just before he agreed to Drew's proposal, I mean.

At length I sighed and stared down at my cuffs. "If you asked him, Joe, I reckon he wouldn't go. He'd look for some other way to help me, but he wouldn't leave here."

"I know," Joe said, as if I'd just stated the obvious. "It's going to kill him to leave me again—he'll spend half his time back east worrying about what kind of trouble I'm in. And he has a hard time saying 'no' to me." He paused and grinned. "I've always been his favorite."

I snorted. "I know—anyone can tell that. But you won't ask him to stay?"

He furrowed his brow for a moment, but then he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of generosity. "No," he said. "I guess it's worth letting Adam see the world for three more years if it means saving your neck."

He paused again and gave me a hard look. "Did he tell you that I almost shot a man in cold blood once? A fellow who shot Hoss?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "What stopped you?"

To my surprise, he smiled a little. "Adam," he said. "He talked me down. But I had that fellow kneeling in front of me with my gun pointed at his head."

I kept staring at Joe. We were a lot alike, just as I'd suspected. "Does your Pa know about that?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. He knows how close I came to doing exactly what you did."

We both clammed up after that and sat there in silence. I'm not sure how much time passed; I was too lost in my own thoughts.

When Adam came in, Joe just glanced up at him, real casual-like. "You need help packing, older brother?" he asked. "You know I've always wanted this room."

Adam stared at him uncertainly—but just for a moment. Then he broke into a wide grin. "You're going to have to fight Hoss for it," he pointed out.

"Nah, I'll make some deal with him," Joe said. "Don't worry about that. You're going to be stuck with the little room when you get back."

I bit my lip at that—the smallest room here was grander than anything I'd ever known. But I didn't say that out loud. In fact, I could tell that Adam and Joe didn't need me around just now. So as Adam crossed the room to take a seat at Joe's side, I slipped out.

I thought there would be someone downstairs to keep an eye on me—but the lamps were snuffed out, the fire was burning down to coals and the great room was dark and quiet. Everyone must have headed up to their rooms.

Well, they all knew that I wasn't going to try to escape. And I'd go back up to Adam's room in a minute or two. I just wanted to give the brothers some privacy.

I took a seat on the edge of the fireplace and stared into the embers, wishing that Adam, Hoss and Joe were my real brothers. And that's when I realized how much I missed Rosalind. And Celia—Celia probably didn't even know what had happened yet. She was too far away from Virginia City. But she'd find out once the roads were clear.

I felt something in my throat as I realized that the three of us—me, Rosalind and Celia—would never be together again. Poor Celia would suffer the most. She was a shy girl, our Celia. Rosalind was the only one who knew how to coax her out of her shell.

I drew my knees up to my chest and buried my head in them. That's when the tears started gushing out of me. Before I knew it I was sobbing my guts out.

I wasn't even crying out of grief—I was more angry than mournful. Rosalind had so much life and beauty in her. Why'd she have to waste it on a man like Jack Clayton? Why had she been stupid enough to fall for his lines? Why had she let him take such advantage of her?

"Oh God, Rosalind," I said, under my breath. And then I thought about Jack Clayton and what he did to my little sister. And for that moment—just for that moment—I was glad that he was dead and that it was my hand that had killed him.

"It doesn't get better," a voice said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin at that—I had no idea someone else was there. I turned my head and saw that Drew Clayton was sitting in the chair farthest from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He must have been sitting there the whole time. I don't suppose it mattered to him that the room was dark.

I took a deep, ragged breath. "I didn't—I didn't know you were here," I managed.

He shrugged. "So I gathered."

I sighed and some of the anger went out of me. "What were you doing? Thinking about your brother?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

I wiped my nose with my hand. "Did you ever meet my sister?"

It took him a moment to answer that. "Once," he said. "She was lively and playful, as I remember."

I nodded. "Yeah, that would have been her. She had all her namesake's charm—just none of her sense."

"She was named for Shakespeare's Rosalind?" Drew asked.

"Yes," I answered. "My Pa—my Pa liked Shakespeare. And especially that play." I paused and wiped my nose again. "Thank God he and my Ma are already dead. They'll never know what happened to Rosalind—and they'll never know what I did."

He didn't say anything to that.

"I'm sorry about your brother," I said. I knew how inadequate that statement was, but I felt the need to say it anyway.

Drew sighed. "I feel like I've sold him out by agreeing to help you," he confided. "But even if you hang, that won't bring him back. And, unfortunately, you getting blown to bits by a Confederate shell won't bring him back either."

I managed a small smile. "No," I said, "it won't."

"Nonetheless," he continued, "I'd like you to get yourself killed if you can possibly help it. I don't expect you to be suicidal, but try for dangerous assignments."

I half laughed and half choked. "I'll see what I can do to oblige you."

He smiled. "Good," he said as he got to his feet.

I watched him take his cane and begin feeling his way toward the staircase. I sprang up to help him without thinking. "Here," I said as I held out my arm toward him, cuffs and all.

He stopped abruptly and turned toward me. Even in the dim glow from the fire, I could see that he was annoyed with my offer of assistance.

"Sorry," I muttered, taking a step back. I don't know what had come over me—I knew that he didn't appreciate help.

But as he stood there, his face softened somewhat. "It's all right," he said at length. "If you can manage with the handcuffs, give me your arm."

I took a step toward him again. "I can manage," I said.

He didn't say anything back. He just took hold of me and together we negotiated the stairs.


	21. Chapter 21

**For Want of a Brother**

_by J. Rosemary Moss_

_**Epilogue**_

It was two more days before we could get into Virginia City. We never met the posse--I heard later that they had dispersed after the first storm. So I arrived in town without incident.

Drew proved to be as good as his word. He worked tirelessly on my behalf, and between his influence and the Cartwrights', the judge decided against hanging me. My life sentence was eventually commuted to service in the Union Army. It took some doing, though, and I spent a couple of months in prison while Adam and Drew wrangled with lawyers, judges and Congressmen.

I thought I would serve my time in the western theater of the war--or perhaps even fighting Indians instead of Rebs—but I ended up in the Army of the Potomac. Ben Cartwright, it turned out, was on friendly terms with General Burnside. It seems that Mr. Cartwright had invested heavily in the Illinois Central Railroad (where Burnside was treasurer) and in the Burnside Arms Company.

I got to know Gen. Burnside. I served directly under him, albeit in menial capacities. History has not judged him kindly—with some justification, I reckon, after disastrous military decisions on his part. Well, I suffered from some of those decisions, but I can attest that he was a good man. He just wasn't suited to be a general.

He's infamous for sending his boys up the heights at Fredericksburg. I was acting as his courier in that battle; that's where I took a bullet just below my shoulder. That damned wound festered until there was nothing to be done for it. A doctor amputated my arm--my gun arm. It was the same arm that I had used to shoot Jack Clayton. The irony of that wasn't lost on me. Nor on Drew, I reckon.

I saw both Drew and Adam while I was recovering in a Washington hospital. Drew liked me better after the amputation—once my arm was gone, I think he was able to set aside the guilt he felt for working to save me. He didn't feel as if he had sold out his brother any longer. After all, the help he had given me might have saved my life, but it had left me a cripple.

As for me--well, I understood how Drew felt. And I couldn't bring myself to hold it against him. And I did my best to be philosophical about the arm. Better to be alive with one arm, I figured, than to hang as a whole man.

I saw quite a bit of Adam, of course. He spent every spare moment he could with me. He still tousled my hair, gave me advice and bossed me around--in other words, he kept acting the part of an older brother. And that was fine with me.

I remember one night in particular when Adam visited. I'd been thinking of Joe and Hoss earlier that day and of how they had wanted me to weasel information from older brother. It occurred to me that if I couldn't get that information now--with Adam full of sympathy for my lost arm—then I just wasn't fit to be someone's younger brother.

Course, there was still the issue of Adam's privacy. But how private could the story be? After all, Drew's valet was there and so were all the injured folks. It was probably just hard to explain, that's all. Besides, Joe was right. If I wanted to be a proper younger brother, I couldn't worry about Adam's privacy.

Adam himself provided the opening. He spoke at length of his dealings with Drew. Overall, I think he was happy with the partnership. The two men were well-suited, in some respects--and I suspect that Adam cherished hopes of reforming Drew. Of course, he clashed with Drew just about every day over some business decision or other, but that didn't matter. Some part of Adam had always enjoyed their rivalry.

I grinned up at him from my place on the cot. "I wish you would tell me how you two ever came to be friends—or at least friendly enemies—to begin with," I said. "I figure it all has to do with that stage wreck."

Adam folded his arms across his chest. "I seem to remember telling you that story."

But I shook my head at that. "You told me the facts of it—I don't doubt that," I said. "But you didn't tell me the meat behind them. Can't I have the whole story now?"

"Why do you want it?" Adam returned.

I shrugged—although it was a lopsided, one-shouldered shrug. "I need something to take my mind off this missing arm," I explained.

That was a brutally unfair tactic on my part—I knew it and Adam knew it. Adam rolled his eyes at my ploy, but in the end he decided to humor me.

"All right," he said. "But it will take some time. Just lie back and stop fidgeting with your bandages."

I grinned again. "Yes, sir," I said. Then I put my good arm behind my head and perked up my ears.

I was quite satisfied with my ploy, all told. Joe and Hoss, I reckoned, would be proud.

The End


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